


The Great Puzzle or, The Curious (and Curiouser) Case of a Vulcan in Wonderland

by solomonara



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Empathy, Get together fic, M/M, Rabbits, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 25,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solomonara/pseuds/solomonara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a routine science mission on a frozen planet, Spock suddenly finds himself in something of a hairy situation. Kirk and the crew scramble to understand the cause of Spock's sudden leporine predicament - before it's too late and the Enterprise is down one first officer (and up one fuzzy mascot). Less crackfic than you might expect, I've been told. Also, as has been suggested on more than one occasion, possibly worth reading just for the chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which a Landing Party Engages in an Utterly Routine Science Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, a very good friend of mine (I shall call her Quartz. Or Q for short. Seems apropos.) said to me: "I know what I want for Christmas. I would like a fic in which Spock gets turned into a bunny. Minimum 8 pages."
> 
> Said I: "Ok." (EDIT: I have just been informed by Q that my exact words were, in fact, 'Challenge Accepted' so there you have it: I am not nearly as chill as I pretend to be)
> 
> And... it turned out pretty well. At least, Q liked it. So, with her blessing, I am sharing all 18 chapters (plus 1 epilogue) with you, my dear readers. Enjoy.
> 
> Beta'd by the meticulous [DragonSorceress22 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonSorceress22/works)
> 
> A note regarding universes:  
> I couldn't decide whether to set this in the prime 'verse or the alternate universe created with the new movies. Leonard Nimoy is my preferred Spock, and the relationship between Spock Prime and Kirk Prime is, to me, much better than the relationship between Alternate Spock and Alternate Kirk - largely because they actually had time to, you know, develop it in the series.
> 
> So, ostensibly, this work is set in the original 'verse, and I picked a stardate that would set it somewhere in Season 3. However, I like Chris Pine's Kirk more than Shatner's Kirk, so the Kirk in this fic acts more like movie-verse Kirk. I also borrowed holographic technology from the movie-verse because... I like holographic technology. That said, you should not have any trouble picturing whichever cast members you like best in their various roles here.
> 
> That's it - read on! Apologies for inconsistencies in trivia.

 

* * *

“I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!”

― Lewis Carroll, _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ _  
_

"All fiction is about people, unless it's about rabbits pretending to be people."

― Margaret Atwood

* * *

**Chapter One**  
 **In Which a Landing Party Engages in an Utterly Routine Science Mission**

_Science Officer's Log: Stardate 4760.74_

_The_ Enterprise _has safely arrived at Lepus IV. Our mission: to gather chemical samples from the planet's surface. Orbital scans indicate an intriguing type of radiation not normally found in nature. Levels do not appear harmful._

Spock allowed his small landing party a few moments to goggle over the alien landscape while he calibrated the tricorder. He had taken three science officers with specialties in geology, chemistry, and archaeology along, as well as two security officers. Though, in point of fact, he hadn't _taken_ the security team so much as accepted their presence. That had been the captain's requirement. Despite the utterly deserted state of the planet, and the fact that Kirk himself had declined to accompany the landing party on such a routine (his word had been "boring") mission, the captain had been adamant on the two red-shirted humans' presence. Just in case. Spock had bowed to the logic of caution, as it cost them nothing.

But the mission was starting later than he would have liked. Commander Scott was in a positive frenzy over the magnetic resonance emanating from the planet, muttering that it was going "the wrong way" and that he was convinced it would interfere with the proper working of the transporters. He and Chekov cloistered themselves for a good two hours trying to determine whether or not they could safely beam down a team. When Spock interrupted to suggest piloting a shuttle down instead, he, too, was drawn in. His presence, however, greatly sped up the determination that the transporters were in fact safer than attempting to pilot a shuttle through the magnetic field. A few tests later, and down they beamed with absolutely no ill effects.

And the planet _was_ beautiful, he supposed, if thoroughly abandoned. The race of people who had lived here had died out before reaching anything that might be termed an industrial age. With the harsh conditions the landing party was currently experiencing, it was no wonder.

The planet was frozen. Though there was no snow, the temperatures were consistently subzero for most of Lepus IV's year with only a short "spring" bringing temperatures up to something that might be considered remotely habitable by most of the galaxy. The landing party was wearing hermetically sealed protective suits that were also equipped with heat coils; though the atmosphere was breathable, the air at this time of year was far too cold for anyone to survive long in it, let alone get any work done.

These severe conditions had occurred relatively recently in the planet's history, when the moon that had once orbited Lepus IV had crashed to the planet's surface. Not only was the physical damage impressive, the sudden absence of the moon seemed somehow to have lead to the native peoples' eventual demise – at least that was one of the theories the archaeological team was investigating at the moment. These same experts posited that the disaster (which had occurred half a century ago) had been linked in some way to a drastic change in weather patterns on the planet, resulting in the very long, deadly winter that the away team was currently one thin hermetic seal away from experiencing themselves.

The _Enterprise_ 's main concern with the planet, though, was not archaeology, though the opportunity to add information about this extinct civilization to the Federation's databases was a welcome one. No, their main mission was scientific: specifically, to study the soil of the planet, which was mixed with the remains of what Dr. McCoy called "the moon landing." The moon had had unusual properties, it would seem, and might yield any number of interesting and useful discoveries. If nothing else it might help them discover why exactly the planet was giving Scotty such a headache.

Spock looked up from his tricorder and glanced around. They had beamed down into a small depression in the landscape, with gentle hills creating a natural amphitheatre, the open end of which was at Spock's back. The crew had walked to the top of the hills and were gazing at whatever they could see from there. Spock gathered his field kit and followed, his long legs carrying him to the crest with alacrity.

Spread beneath them was what appeared to be a village – stone silent and abandoned now, of course, as all the inhabitants were dead. The buildings were low and domed, the walls sloping right down to the ground like overturned bowls. They gleamed silver, shining softly in the dim light of the planet's distant star. Spock's eyebrows rose at that and he aimed the tricorder in the direction of the abandoned village. This building material did not look like any primitive construction he had ever seen.

The tricorder informed him that the material had been applied to the crude shell of each structure in panels. It told him that the underlying structure was exactly as primitive as he would expect. It told him that there were networks of tunnels carved out below the surface of the village, connecting the structures. It did not tell him what the shining panels were.

"Lieutenant Davis," Spock said, addressing the officer with a specialty in archaeology. "In your inspection of this community, please give special attention to that building material."

She saluted smartly and started off down toward the village. Spock reminded the remaining two science officers of their tasks and they tore their eyes from the alien landscape to receive their orders. He directed them to different quarters with a final reminder to remain in communication with each other. They set to their sampling tasks, and Spock himself got to work.

From the hilltop, he had spied a large ridge in the distance, rich black soil distinctly visible in the pale, frozen plains of this region of the planet. Spock headed in that direction, thinking that so many feet of exposed earth might yield clearer readings than the frozen vegetable matter that was immediately at hand. At any rate, it never hurt to have an abundance of samples for comparison.

Having reached the ridge under the watchful eye of one of the security team (who had remained on the hilltop so as to be able to see everyone in the party easily), Spock began scraping soil into a sample tube. He labeled it carefully, the heavy gloves somewhat hampering his fine motor skills, and tucked it into a compartment on his belt. Then he glanced straight up to the top of the ridge. It was much taller than the hill he had been on previously. The ridge was not long and was likely sloped on the other side, if the geology of this planet followed logical rules. He walked to the end of the ridge and, indeed, saw that the slope to the top was easily scalable.

Spock followed the ridge to its apex, eyes on the tricorder. The readings remained consistent: the first several feet in the crust were saturated with the material they had been sent to study, while the soil beneath that appeared normal.

The ridge itself offered a perfectly centered view of the town below. He could easily make out Lieutenant Davis examining one of the buildings. Spock scanned the surrounding landscape for similar features but found none. Odd – was this a geographic anomaly, or perhaps some deliberately crafted feature of the landscape? A lookout's post, or a meeting point perhaps? It was close enough to the village that it might play a role in day-to-day life.

The tricorder chirped and Spock gave it his full attention. The device seemed to be detecting an instability–

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - please feel free to comment with any questions, complaints, concerns, suggestions, requests for clarification, etc.  
> Stay tuned for Chapter 2: In Which Kirk Is Not as Surprised as He Might Be to Discover an Utterly Routine Science Mission Has Gone Wrong


	2. In Which Kirk Is Not as Surprised as He Might Be to Discover an Utterly Routine Science Mission Has Gone Wrong

Kirk was down in Engineering listening to an over-excited Scotsman attempt to explain the remarkable properties of Lepus IV when Uhura's summons reached him.

"Captain, you're needed on the bridge."

Scotty heard it too and threw up his hands in defeat – he was fairly certain the captain didn't _really_ care about the nuances of keeping a ship in orbit around a planet with an _incorrect_ magnetic resonance, but he'd tried, and what more could anyone ask of him really – as Kirk hastened to the turbolift.

Scotty didn't know Uhura as well as Kirk did. To him she had sounded her usual calm self. Kirk had detected a hint of strain in her voice, though, and there were only a handful of things that could require his presence on the bridge at the moment. None of them were good.

So it was that Kirk entered the bridge already alert and ready to respond to a crisis. "Report," he ordered to the room at large before he had even made it to his chair.

"Keptin, ze away team reports that Mr. Spock has gone... vell, _missing_ , sir."

Ok. So it was about as bad as it could be without having lost the entire away team. Great.

"Details, Mr. Chekov. I'm assuming there's some reason we can't pinpoint his location?"

"Ze unusual magnetic frequency and radiation–" Chekov began, but Kirk held up a hand.

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard of it. Biosigns?"

Chekov shook his head. "Something is blocking ze signal. Or he turned off ze sensor."

"He wouldn't do that. Ok, Mr. Sulu, form a search party, make sure we have medical personnel included. The planet is uninhabited as far as we know, so combat skills shouldn't be necessary – but then science officers also shouldn't go missing during routine missions, so it wouldn't hurt to be prepared. Uhura, I want to know exactly what was said when the away team reported in. Chekov, get Mr. Scott and see if you can't pinpoint exactly why we can't detect Mr. Spock and fix it."

The bridge was suddenly a flurry of activity. Uhura began a playback of the report, which was unenlightening. Basically, he had been there one moment and gone the next. Briefly Kirk wondered if other vessels had as much of a science-officers-in-mortal-peril problem as his did and then he was down in the transporter room donning a protective suit right alongside the rest of the search party Sulu had assembled. Bones had insisted on joining as the medical representative, gruffly stating that if Spock had just gotten himself stuck in a hole or something he certainly wasn't going to miss it. Kirk understood what he meant and gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze on the way to the transporter pads.

Someone made some noises about the captain, the first officer, and the chief medical officer all being off the ship and potentially in danger at the same time (mainly to satisfy protocol) and then they were off.

*

There was good news and bad news when Kirk and his team materialized on the planet's surface a short time later. The good news was that the away team had a reasonable idea of what had happened to Spock. The extensive tunnels beneath the extinct village had, without proper maintenance, become unstable and had caused the ground itself to be likewise unstable. Spock had simply been unlucky and happened across a small sinkhole.

The bad news was that whatever he had fallen into had collapsed behind him and he could be anywhere now – just beneath the surface unable to breathe, or much deeper. Possibly he had fallen into a stable section of tunnel and was fine. But the tunnels were unmapped and they would have to be very careful if they wanted to dig him out – further collapse of the ground would not help matters. No one had been looking in his direction when he disappeared, either, so they had to consider a fairly wide area of the surface to be unstable and unsafe.

Kirk ordered a team of engineers to beam down the equipment they would need to ( _very carefully_ ) begin an excavation and assembled the rest of the team into smaller groups to begin exploring and mapping the tunnels. Since this was something the archaeological team had wanted to do anyway, they were well prepared.

Kirk, Bones, a member of security and an archaeology specialist made up one of the exploration teams. They checked the seals on their heated suits one last time before heading into the largest of the tunnel entrances beneath what the archaeologists were pretty sure was the "town hall."

"Jim, I probably don't have to remind you about the dangers of this place once the sun goes down," McCoy said. "It gets well below freezing down here. Our suits will stand it for a short time, but the digging equipment might just freeze up."

"I know, Bones," Kirk replied, shining a flashlight up to the ceiling and along the walls of the tunnel. Definitely not a naturally-occurring structure. He and McCoy took point, leaving the archaeologist and the security crewmember slightly behind. The archaeologist would be slower, taking notes and tracking their progress for mapping later, but Kirk and McCoy took care to stay within shouting distance.

"And Spock – well, I know I've called him a cold-blooded son of a gun, but I wasn't entirely kidding. We need to find him before sundown." McCoy continued.

"I know."

"Sundown's in just a few hours, Jim."

"I _know_ that! You think it's not the first thing on my mind? If you have any idea on how we can speed up the search, I am open to suggestions, doc," Jim hissed so that the trailing crew members wouldn't hear.

McCoy gave him a considering look, then shook his head. "No sir, I do not. Let's keep going. At least these tunnels don't branch too much."

Kirk nodded and they pressed on. McCoy shook his head. He had planned a lecture on being prepared for the worst, since Kirk obviously wasn't, but he hadn't had the heart to deliver it. Besides, Spock was one stubborn Vulcan. As long they got to him quickly, and as long as his heatsuit remained operational, he'd surely be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - please feel free to comment with any questions, complaints, concerns, suggestions, requests for clarification, etc.  
> Stay tuned for Chapter 3: In Which Spock Fails To Make Any Sort of Alice in Wonderland Reference at All


	3. In Which Spock Fails To Make Any Sort of Alice in Wonderland Reference at All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's too cold to do anything other than fic. So you get another chapter.
> 
> By the by, if you notice something at any point in the story that really ought to have a trigger warning on it, please let me know. I'm of the opinion that this is a pretty mild story but I don't have a whole lot of triggers so... just let me know.

Spock's heatsuit was compromised. This was the first thing he noticed as he regained consciousness. The next was that it was very dark. Then the cold again. Spock sat up cautiously in the darkness, reaching out to make sure he wasn't about to crack his skull on a low ceiling. He winced once, briefly, as a sharp pain joined the biting cold and he was forced to stop and concentrate momentarily to banish both sensations to a corner of his mind where they would not trouble him.

_Bruised ribs,_ he diagnosed absently. _Left shoulder dislocated. Severe cut on left side from approximately eighth rib to hip. Heatsuit compromised. Unconsciousness would suggest some manner of head injury. Headache correlates._

The tricorder was still slung across his chest. His communicator and phaser were gone, however – possibly pulled free in his tumble through the ground. They might be somewhere nearby, though.

A few moments' groping in the dark revealed a great deal of loose soil – and, thankfully, the field science kit he had brought along should he need to take any samples back to the ship. It contained a flashlight. Spock found it easily and switched it on, holding it in his right hand and looking for the first time at his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was that the visor protecting his face from the cold was badly cracked. Not only did this interfere with his vision, but it would let in the cold as well. Not that this leak was noticeable next to the much more severe gash in the side of his suit, but Spock noted it anyway, squinting around the room and trying to see around the cracks spiderwebbing across his field of vision.

The room he was in was shaped like an overturned bowl, just as the buildings of the village. The walls sloped down to the floor and the apex of the ceiling rose about five feet above him. The walls appeared to be made of a clay-like material hardened over a wooden frame, though how this area had been hollowed out in the first place Spock could not surmise. But he could see jagged edges of the wooden beams poking out from the hole in the ceiling through which he must have fallen. Though the beam of the flashlight was not quite bright enough to let Spock know for sure, he was fairly certain he could see a dull green gleam on one of those rough ends and he glanced down at his side. Yes, an uncontrolled fall against the sharp end of that beam would be enough to tear his suit. He shivered. The cold was going to become problematic very shortly.

Spock stood slowly and carefully, ignoring the twinges from – well, everywhere – and added a possibly sprained ankle to the list of pains he was ignoring. He had fallen eleven feet after exiting the sinkhole (the depth of which he had no way of estimating), and while he was not as fragile as his human friends it still had not been _pleasant._ He swept his beam of light around the room, assessing his options. There was a short, sturdy-looking door (Spock estimated about five feet high – an indicator of the average height of the extinct population?) set into the wall, and several chests and crates stacked up around him. Some sort of storage area from the extinct population of Lepus IV, Spock hypothesized. The room was very orderly and neat, with no hidden crevices his phaser or communicator could have fallen into, and they weren't in the open middle area where he had landed.

The hole he'd fallen through was too high to reach, now. Even if he stood on the crates, he doubted he'd be able to climb upward through the soil and reach the surface. It had closed in behind him and now let loose a sprinkle of dirt every once in a while to remind him that the great weight of earth above him was, in fact, quite unstable. He should certainly leave this room, then. 

This decision made, Spock turned his light on himself, looking down to make a visual assessment of the damage. The only tear in his suit (other than the cracked visor) seemed to be the one stretching down his side, splashed with green. Rather a lot of green, actually. Spock added blood loss to the list of concerns to be dealt with, right after the increasing cold. Luckily, a few of the heat coils in the suit seemed to still be working – the heat was simply leaking out too quickly to do much good.

Spock moved to the nearest of the chests, as they looked easier to open than the crates. Carefully setting the light down on the ground, he lifted the lid with his good arm. Hopefully one of them would contain bandages or something similar.

This one did not. It did, however, contain blankets. They were thick and black, made of a somewhat stiff fabric. Spock grasped the uppermost one and hauled it out, surprised to find it was heavier than he had expected. Upon further inspection, he discovered that one side of the blanket was rough to the touch, while the other had thick, coarse fur. Hardly a luxury item, but thick enough to help. Spock shook it out awkwardly with one arm and discovered that it had sleeves, as well. Not a blanket at all then – some sort of robe?

He slid his right arm into the thick garment but only made a perfunctory attempt at getting his left arm to comply before determining that he only risked further damage trying to raise it high enough to insert it into the sleeve. Instead, he awkwardly draped the rest of it over his left shoulder and pulled it closed, trying to keep the warmth in. He pressed the rough interior to his side, hoping to stanch the bloodflow until he could find something more suitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - please feel free to comment with any questions, complaints, concerns, suggestions, requests for clarification, etc.  
> Since this is kind of a short chapter, I'm going to take this opportunity to say a few things. About science! As a warning regarding things to come, I would like to introduce all of you to a concept generated by my sister and myself upon our first watching of TOS: the practice of "popping your Star Trek collar".
> 
> Like hiking up your suspenders of disbelief, popping your Star Trek collar enables you to enjoy a series that sometimes tests the limits of patience. And science. It's Star Trek: you can see the zippers, you can hear lasers in space, and sometimes physics takes a break. Just pop your Star Trek collar and blend in - it'll be fun, I promise.
> 
> (That being said, if you have any questions about anything in this fic, you should totally ask because I guarantee you I've thought about everything way too hard. I may not have a scientifically accurate answer for you, but by golly I will have an answer for you.)
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 4: In Which Things Take a Turn for the Bizarre


	4. In Which Things Take a Turn for the Bizarre

Spock's search had not gone well. The rest of the chests contained only more of the strange garments. The crates had shoes, belts, and other primitive-looking accessories. He had found a few sets of clothing and had wadded up a shirt and strapped it to his side with one of the belts and deemed himself ready to leave the room.

There was one problem, though. The door was clearly not designed to be opened from the inside. There was no handle or obvious opening mechanism and the door was set flush with the frame. Spock gave it a few shoves, fumbling the flashlight awkwardly as he did so. It didn't budge, and worse, the exercise highlighted how weak Spock was becoming. He realized he didn't know how long he had lain there unconscious and had to clamp down firmly on the part of his mind that was holding his pain and the cold at bay.

He felt around the edges of the door slowly, examining the entire surface for a release or some clue as to how the door worked. The hinges were set into the wall – he could see where the door was attached to them, but he couldn't reach them to tamper with them. He considered taking his gloves off to take advantage of the sensitivity of his hands; often his fingers could feel what his eyes could not see. Would it be worth it? On the one hand, he would lose heat much more quickly if he did that. On the other hand, he could not remain locked in this room. He had no reason to expect anyone would be able to find him down here.

Spock set the flashlight between his teeth and grimly removed the glove from his right hand – not an easy process with a left hand that was increasingly reluctant to obey such simple orders as "grasp" and "tug". He inhaled sharply as the cold hit exposed flesh. He would have to work quickly. 

*

The sun was setting on Lepus IV. Though it would take some time before they noticed the temperature change in the tunnels, Kirk had nevertheless sent the other two crewmembers back so that they could return to the _Enterprise_. The other exploration crews had orders to do the same at this time, but Kirk refused – and of course, Bones stayed with him, trying all the while to get him to turn back.

"He could be just around the next corner, Bones!" Kirk protested.

"You could be saying that until you freeze, Jim. The suits won't be able to keep up with nighttime temperatures here – you've got to be realistic about this!"

"If you're worried, you can go back. I won't think any less of you," Kirk said, breaking into a sprint when he saw that the tunnel they had followed around a bend was a straight path with no branches. McCoy swore softly and jogged after him.

"Don't be ridiculous. Someone's... going to have to... haul you out of here when you're... frozen solid," he huffed – and almost ran into Kirk when he stopped abruptly. "What is it?"

"Two paths," Kirk said, looking first left than right.

"If you're about to suggest we split up–" McCoy started, but Kirk shook his head. Frantic as he was to find Spock, he could still see that that would be a bad plan.

"Hey, is that a door?" Kirk said, raising his light and squinting down the left branch. "We can try that first, and if it's just some room we can try the other branch." He ran off toward the door without waiting for McCoy's response and was already looking for a way to open the door when McCoy caught up with him.

"Well if it is a door it's a damn strange one," McCoy commented. The door was unusually short and very solid, made from one piece of petrified wood. From the placement of the hinges, it looked like it needed to be pushed. Kirk gave it a shove, but it didn't budge. He frowned and put his shoulder to it and felt it give about half an inch before it stuck.

"Give me a hand here," he told McCoy. McCoy threw his arms up in despair at stubborn starship captains and applied his own strength to the door. Slowly, it ground open.

"There's a light in here – oh no. Spock!" Kirk ran into the room to a figure slumped on its side, covered in thick black blankets. The head sticking out, still wearing the heatsuit's helmet though the visor was cracked, was recognizable enough. Spock was huddled under the furs on his side and did not respond to Kirk's voice.

Kirk fell to his knees next to his first officer and grabbed his shoulder through the layers of blankets. Spock's eyes flew open and he made a small noise of pain which prompted Kirk to remove his hand from Spock's shoulder immediately.

"Damn, I'm sorry – Spock, you're hurt. How bad? What happened?" Kirk demanded.

"Jim..." Spock's eyes were glazed and a small smile crept onto his face, which was when Kirk really started worrying.

"Move, Jim, let me look at him," McCoy said, elbowing Kirk out of the way and waving his medical tricorder over Spock's body.

"Jim... fascinating... data..." Spock mumbled. His hand emerged from the blankets holding his tricorder, then stilled as Spock slipped back into unconsciousness. McCoy cursed and peeled back the blankets, then cursed again when he saw Spock's side.

Kirk took the tricorder from Spock's hand and slung it over his own shoulder to get it out of the way. "Can we move him?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah. It's gonna hurt, but we don't have much choice. We have to get him in range of the transporters and fast – he's in the beginning stages of hypothermia."

Kirk didn't need to be told twice. He scooped Spock up in his arms, shedding most of the blankets except one that Spock seemed to be wearing (were those _sleeves?_ What sort of absurd race of people put sleeves on blankets?), and bolted out of the room and back the way they'd come.

Unfortunately, the way they'd come was rather long, and Kirk couldn't keep that pace up the entire way. When he was finally forced to slow to a brisk walk, he pulled Spock tighter to himself to try and keep him at least a little warmer. The torn side of the Vulcan's heatsuit was toward Kirk's torso and he hoped he wasn't agitating the wound unduly, but he couldn't tell – Spock hadn't so much as flinched since slipping back into unconsciousness when McCoy was examining him.

McCoy himself was hovering with his medical tricorder out and constantly on, keeping up a steady stream of reassurances that Spock's condition hadn't worsened, and he would be fine as soon as they got back to the medbay. Kirk said nothing, but gritted his teeth and tried to move faster.

When they finally emerged from the tunnel entrance, they were definitely the last people on the planet. The sun was gone and Kirk was beginning to feel the cold.

"McCoy to _Enterprise_. Three to beam up, and get a gurney in there," McCoy said as soon as they were outside, since Kirk had his hands full.

"That's excellent news, sir. Stand by to beam up," said the voice of whoever was operating the transporter room at the moment. They held still as the familiar frisson of the transporter wrapped itself around them and reality faded out and faded back in in the form of the transporter room. McCoy heaved a sigh of relief and turned to Kirk and Spock – and his jaw dropped.

Kirk was there, looking perfectly healthy (though he had a smear of green across the front of his heatsuit). But on his face was an expression of astonishment to match McCoy's as he looked down at the still body he now held in his hands... literally, in his hands, because the small, black rabbit he was holding fit into them with very little overflow. Spock was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a rabbit appears! I don't know about you guys but that's the only reason I'm here. Can't believe it took four chapters just to get one lousy bunny in this fic. Geez.  
> Thanks for reading - please feel free to comment with any questions, complaints, concerns, suggestions, requests for clarification, etc.  
> Stay tuned for Chapter 5: In Which Bones Knows a Thing or Two About Rabbits


	5. In Which Bones Knows a Thing or Two About Rabbits

"Bones..." Kirk said. His voice sounded strangled, borderline hysteric.

"Now, Jim," McCoy started, his tone placating.

"Bones, what the hell is this?!"

"Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not an engineer!" McCoy exclaimed, losing his own balance at the sight of his captain holding an inexplicable rabbit. He whirled on the transporter engineer and pointed at the captain, still standing bewildered on the transporter pad. "What the hell is that?!" he demanded.

"I... I don't know sir! It looks like a rabbit? I thought you'd found Mr. Spock!" the crewman stammered.

"We _did_ find Mr. Spock, but what we have here is _not_ Mr. Spock, it is... a..." McCoy turned slowly to look at Kirk, a dawning horror in his eyes. He saw it reflected in Kirk's.

"No," Kirk denied. "No, it couldn't possibly... there's no... how could that even..." He looked down at the rabbit, which began stirring sleepily, then quickly back up at McCoy, who could read the panic in his eyes clearly.

"Medbay. Now," McCoy ordered. Kirk nodded vigorously, clutching the rabbit a little more tightly, and the two strode from the transporter room and past a rushing medical team wheeling a gurney their way. McCoy waved them off without a word, hoping they hadn't been able to make out the furry black shape in Kirk's hands because _that_ would cause some questions, and they arrived in the blessedly empty medical bay.

McCoy began stripping off the heatsuit, then held his hands out to take the rabbit so that Kirk could remove his own outerwear. But Kirk drew back slightly, holding the now fully-awake rabbit protectively. McCoy rolled his eyes.

"Oh for pity's sake, Jim. I'm not going to hurt it. I know a damn sight more about rabbits than you do anyway, and if you keep allowing your panic to get the better of you, you may well do that poor creature an injury."

Kirk's eyes widened and he offered the rabbit to the doctor, who took it gingerly. The rabbit kicked once or twice in a half hearted manner, but relaxed when McCoy cradled it in one arm and began stroking it while Kirk removed his suit. Both heatsuits and everything the two had been carrying went into a sealed quarantine container for later testing.

"Rabbits are very in tune with the feelings of the people around them. Too much stress isn't gonna be good for this little guy," McCoy explained.

Kirk looked at him askance. "So... then... you don't think that _that's_..."

"What? That Spock turned into a rabbit? No – well, probably not. I think we've both had a long and stressful day, Jim, and that engineering is scanning the planet's surface right now, just like they have been since Spock went missing, and that if the transporter beam somehow _missed_ him, they'll find him soon enough. But I also think that I'm going to run a few tests on both you and this little bunny before I draw any conclusions."

"What? If the transporter beam missed him, I've got to get–"

"Sit down before I strap you down, Captain," McCoy ordered and Kirk found himself sitting on one of the beds before he even knew what he was doing. How could a man be that intimidating while holding a fluffy bunny?

"Look, Jim," McCoy continued. "I know we both think we found Spock and brought him out of the tunnels, but I'm not going to rule out some kind of hallucination – things like that have happened before on new planets. So I'm going to run some tests on you, and on the rabbit, and on myself. Meanwhile, you're going to inform the crew that search operations will continue at sunrise. Does that sound reasonable?"

Kirk nodded. "I'll make the announcement," he said. "But, Bones... if he's still down there, he won't survive the night. The cold..."

"I know, Jim."

Kirk let out a shaky laugh that McCoy did not like the sound of at all. "It sounds crazy but I really hope that rabbit is my science officer," Kirk said. "I don't know what I'd do if... he can't be replaced, Bones, do you understand?"

McCoy nodded sympathetically. "Would you like to hold the rabbit, Jim?" he offered. Kirk glowered at him – but held his hands out anyway, calming himself so as not to startle the creature. The action _did_ make him feel better and the rabbit snuggled to his chest almost like it was trying to hear his heartbeat. Kirk almost smiled at it.

"All right," he said. "Announcement. Tests. We'll... deal with tomorrow when it gets here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing I have said about rabbits being in tune with the emotions of people around them? This is a true thing. And now you know. I learned so much about rabbits writing this fic...
> 
> Thanks for reading, feel free to comment asking for clarification, background, stuff about rabbits. Whatever.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 6: In Which Kirk and McCoy Really Should Get Some Sleep, but Don’t


	6. In Which Kirk and McCoy Really Should Get Some Sleep, but Don't

Kirk and McCoy found an empty crate and lined it with a blanket. Kirk lowered the rabbit carefully into it. It hopped in a circle and looked up at them forlornly before huddling into a corner where the blanket was thickest.

"He looks cold," Kirk commented. McCoy shook his head.

"Rabbits are _built_ for cold, Jim. It'll be fine," McCoy said. "Now let's get started."

They ran a full battery of tests on Kirk, and then most of them over again on McCoy. Both of them were as healthy as they ever were, though incredibly tired by the time they had gone over all of the results. The sleep cycle was almost over, and the sun would be rising on Lepus IV soon.

"Ok, time to play vet I guess," said McCoy, peering down into the crate. The rabbit hadn't moved except to curl itself even tighter into a furry ball. "Huh," McCoy said. "It really does look cold." He lifted the rabbit gently. Its feet kicked in the air frantically as it woke up, but it calmed when McCoy got an arm under it.

"All right, you're going to have to hold him while I take some samples." He held the rabbit out to Kirk, who was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. Kirk took it carefully and placed it in the hollow nest formed by his legs, reasoning that the rabbit would be happier with sturdy ground under its feet. The rabbit turned around a few times but didn't try to escape and settled, seemingly content. Kirk laid a hand over him just in case he panicked when McCoy approached with the syringe, but the rabbit seemed resigned to his fate and let the doctor draw blood, trembling only a little.

Kirk's eyebrows made a rapid ascent when the blood entered the syringe's clear vessel, though. It was green.

"Now, that doesn't necessarily mean–" Bones began.

" _Really?!_ "

"I'm just trying to maintain some standard of scientific objectivity here! I don't know why you're so eager to believe you have your science officer sitting between your legs, anyway," McCoy said with a pointed look at his captain, who had the good grace to blush just slightly, because of course McCoy knew, who _else_ was Kirk going to tell when he just couldn't take it anymore?

"Maybe because if it's not him, he's probably dead," Kirk growled. McCoy looked ashamed and Kirk regretted his tone – he knew his old friend had just been trying to lighten the situation in his usual way

"Just run the damn tests," Kirk grumbled. McCoy smartly snipped a lock of fur from the rabbit and turned on his heel, heading for the lab equipment. Kirk looked down at the rabbit. "If you _are_ Spock, I really hope you can't understand us," he muttered.

*

Kirk ended up falling asleep where he sat, sinking into a horizontal position by increments as he grew more and more tired and as the doctor labored on. The rabbit lost its nest when he stretched out his legs, but it hopped to his chest and settled there. Kirk fell asleep before he could even think about removing it to its crate.

Nurse Chapel came in to attempt to relieve McCoy, but he would have none of it. He allowed her to assist, since she was sensible enough not to cause a scene regarding the rabbit, but refused to sleep himself. The sun had just risen on Lepus IV when they finished and McCoy sent Nurse Chapel to get some rest and gently woke Kirk.

Kirk sat up groggily, then snapped to alertness with a frantic look around for the rabbit.

"Where did he go?!" Kirk asked.

"You _lost_ him?" McCoy said, sweeping his eyes around the room. There were a lot of spaces a rabbit could hide. "You had one job!"

"Just help me look for him!" Kirk ordered, heaving himself off the bed and dropping to the floor to check beneath it.

"Keptin, are you looking for zis?"

Kirk straightened immediately, narrowly missing cracking his head on the underside of the bed. Chekov had just entered the medical bay and was holding the rabbit.

"Yes!" Kirk let out an immense sigh of relief. "Where did you find him?"

"Just outside ze door, sir. He vas making a break for it." Chekov spotted the crate with the blanket in it and placed the rabbit inside. It hopped in a circle, then stood on its back paws, resting the front ones on the edge of the crate and peering back and forth between Kirk and McCoy. "Sir, vy do ve have a rabbit in the medbay?"

"Uhh..." McCoy said.

"We're working on that, Ensign," Kirk said, putting on his Captain voice. "Now what brings you to medical?"

"Er, vell, that is..."

"Out with it, Ensign."

Chekov hesitated a moment longer before addressing the space between McCoy and Kirk. "I'm heading off duty and Commander Scott told me to stop by here and tell you zat zey have run all ze scans he knows how. Mr. Spock is nowhere to be found."

Kirk felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He understood why no one would want to send a message like that over the coms.

"Oh, but, ze digging equipment vas frozen overnight. It's varming up enough to send a crew down to repair it. He may still be under ze surface!" Chekov added encouragingly. Kirk nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Chekov. Please keep me apprised of updates," he said, hoping his voice sounded even. Chekov nodded and left the medbay with one last curious glance at the rabbit. As soon as the door shut behind him, Kirk whirled on McCoy. "Tell me you have test results."

"Yeah, Jim, I do, but it's damned unusual," McCoy said with a glance down at the rabbit, whose upright ears gave it an attentive expression. "That, apparently, is not a rabbit. According to DNA tests, it's a Vulcan that just happens to be _shaped_ like a rabbit."

McCoy's heart gave a little twist as Kirk's face broke into a relieved grin. "So it _is_ Spock,"  he said triumphantly.

"Er, yes and no," McCoy said. "We don't know how much he's aware of. A rabbit brain can't really handle the higher level a Vulcan brain functions at, and according to scans, well, the hardware in there is all rabbit. I don't know how much Spock's aware of, or if he even understands what's happened to him. And, Jim, we still don't know _how_ this happened. I don't even know where to begin getting him back to normal."

But Kirk was too relived to give much weight to McCoy's words of caution. "At least we know where he is now. We can call off the search and get back to our original mission."

"The mission? Jim, your science officer has been turned into a fluffy bunny. Don't you think a priority shift might be in order?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"Not at all, Bones. Whatever happened to Spock happened on that planet. It's our mission to study the planet. That's the only way we're going to figure this out." He stood and clapped McCoy on the shoulder. "Now, keep an eye on Mr. Spock. I've got a science mission to oversee." The door swished open and Kirk left, a spring in his step.

McCoy's eyebrows crawled upward at the thought of the distinctly unscientific Kirk meddling in the work of his science crew in his eagerness, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Based on rabbit-Spock's suddenly flattened ears, though, he wasn't the only one with doubts. 

"He'll be fine," McCoy assured both himself and Spock. "Now let's see about finding you some carrots or something."

Spock twitched his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Chekov, no one tells him anything.
> 
> I apologize for my attempts at rendering a Russian accent into text. I feel like it came out slightly French.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 7: In Which Kirk Does Science and Spock Does Fashion
> 
> Are you worried yet?


	7. In Which Kirk Does Science and Spock Does Fashion

The problem with science, Kirk reflected as he returned to his quarters after a long day spent planet-side, was that it required an awful lot of patience. The science team had all been eager to please and optimistic that their investigation would soon yield results, but Kirk had quickly realized that "soon" for a scientist and "soon" for anyone else were two different words. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He had once heard a geologist refer to Earth's Paleocene period as "recent."

At any rate, the anthropologists and the applied sciences teams were having something of a friendly race to see whose research would yield the first hint to Spock's condition. Kirk approved. Races meant _faster_. Spock's peculiar situation had piqued their interest, and after confirming that their captain was not having a laugh at their expense (Kirk refused to trot out Spock for exhibition but a quick call to McCoy had settled any lingering doubts with the good doctor's signature practicality and pointed demand as to why they were wasting time talking to him when they should be doing their damn jobs), they flung themselves into it with gusto. The anthropology team was focusing on the tunnels below ground and the insides of the remaining structures, attempting to uncover any sort of written record or clue that the people of this planet occasionally turned into rabbits. The applied sciences team was concentrating on the shiny mystery material that covered the outside of the structures.

Neither group had made what Kirk would call progress but they were so enthusiastically pleased with what they _had_ determined ("This material is manufactured, but we haven't found any equipment!"; "The population never grew larger than two hundred. Two hundred exactly!"; "I think I found a cave painting of a rabbit– oh wait that's just a smudge, sorry.") that Kirk didn't have it in him to express his dismay. Instead he asked questions and tried to understand the answers, and later simply tried not to be in the way as that mad spark that all science crewmembers who ventured this far out into space eventually developed began to take over and they gave themselves to the thrill of discovering and dissecting something completely and utterly new.

Meanwhile, the engineering crew was removing their digging equipment back to the ship, as well as gathering extensive soil samples (meticulously labeled by an ensign) for later study. Starfleet would never say they were remiss in performing their original mission! Yes, those soil samples were going to sit in storage until a qualified crewmember could be spared to study them, but by God, they had collected them. At least _something_ had gotten done today. 

* 

Kirk slept fitfully that night and woke well before he needed to. He figured he might as well get up if he wasn't getting any sleep anyhow and see if McCoy was up and whether he was making any progress.

Kirk exited the turbolift and was surprised to hear chatter coming from medbay. The door slid open to admit him, and he found both Chekov and Sulu bent over Spock's crate. McCoy was focused on his computer screen, completely ignoring them. Chekov and Sulu looked up when they heard the door close.

"What are you two– uh." Kirk stopped, speechless on seeing Spock in Sulu's hands. The rabbit was wearing a bunny-sized science officer's tunic. Complete with braiding. "What– but– you can't–" Spock's ears were flattened in displeasure.

Chekov shifted uneasily and Sulu tried to explain. "He looked so _cold,_ Captain. And Mr. Chekov and I had some free time so we thought we'd just make–"

"He's a rabbit, he doesn't _get_ cold!" Kirk snapped. "Give him to me," he snatched him out of Sulu's hands. "You can't just go around... _dressing_ your first officer!" He placed Spock back in the box. "I'm pretty sure there was an HR memo about things like this." Kirk was actually quite certain because for some reason the HR memos of that nature always got sent to him several times. For emphasis, maybe.

"Why Jim, you'd think you wanted your first officer to be running around unclothed," McCoy said, finally taking an interest. Kirk was spared having to come up with a response to that by Chekov apologizing.

"We're sorry, Keptin, ve didn't mean any disrespect," he assured Kirk earnestly. The poor kid was always heartbreakingly sincere, so Kirk had no doubt he meant it. He shook his head.

"I know, I know. Just, try to remember that that's not really a rabbit, all right? And maybe go find some other way to spend your downtime," he said in a tone of voice that clearly indicated that this was not a suggestion. Sulu and Chekov nodded sharply and beat a hasty retreat. Kirk resisted the urge to fling his hands into the air. He had no doubt that Sulu was behind this, ultimately. That man and his hobbies.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on him, Bones," Kirk complained. McCoy raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't see any harm in it Jim," he said mildly. "Besides, Chekov was right: the rabbit – er, Spock, that is – was exhibiting signs of being too cold." He held up a hand to stay Kirk's forthcoming protest. "I know I said rabbits don't get cold that easily, and they don’t. But look at this latest scan I took just before our two costumers came to visit." McCoy gestured Kirk over to the viewer and Kirk dutifully examined the scan.

"What am I looking at, here?" He could make out two hemispheres of a brain, different areas brightly colored, but had no idea what they meant. Aligned next to the image was a feed of several spiky line graphs.

"Well, first off this brain is really strange looking. It's not Vulcan hardware, but it's trying to operate like a Vulcan. But it's a rabbit brain and it's just not equipped to deal with the normal processes that a Vulcan brain handles on a daily basis." McCoy pointed to a small blue-colored region. "Here's the hypothalamus: temperature regulation. That Vulcan rabbit _thinks_ he's cold. His Vulcan mental processes are trying to send signals that it's too cold for a Vulcan right now." McCoy pointed meaningfully at one of the graphs. Kirk just nodded. "But the rabbit hypothalamus is saying that the temperature is just fine. To put it simply, Spock probably has one hell of a headache right now."

"Bones..." Kirk said, still studying the image. "What's all that red?"

"Oh. Well. You've got to understand, Jim, this isn't an exact science..."

"Just tell me."

"I _think_ it _may_ be parts of the brain that are being sort of overwhelmed by his condition. They correspond vaguely to that part of the brain that Vulcans use to handle emotion, to use the mind meld, that sort of thing."

"Overwhelmed? Exactly how bad is this, Bones?" Kirk demanded.

"I don't know, Jim! Believe it or not, a case like this really has no precedent. I need to consult with both Vulcan physiology and neurology experts and blasted _rabbit_ experts, who, by the way, there are not very many of and who are all back on Earth and who are _really bad_ at answering mail on subspace frequencies!" McCoy groused back. Kirk took a deep breath, trying to remember that this was as stressful on the doctor as it was on him, and at least McCoy had already taken steps to try to find help.

"Right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you, I should be trying to help the science teams find a way to get Spock back to normal. Why don't you share your findings with them, and I'll–" he turned back toward Spock's crate, intending to say he'd keep an eye on him for a while... but the crate was empty. Spock was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Sulu and his hobbies. Botany... fencing... sewing? Sure, why not. Also, yes, I actually did look up MRIs of rabbit brains. That was fun.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 8: In Which the Author Stubbornly Refuses to Name a Chapter ‘The Search for Spock’ and More Science is Done


	8. In Which the Author Stubbornly Refuses to Name a Chapter ‘The Search for Spock’ and More Science is Done

Kirk and his ship had seen a lot of unusual things since beginning their mission of exploration: strange beings, replica Earth civilizations, technology gone mad. But Kirk had never thought there would be a day when he had to put out an all points bulletin on a rabbit.

The first thing he did was to call Scotty and ask him to scan the ship for a rabbit lifeform. Scotty, amused enough to annoy Kirk, began the scan at once. Kirk then put out a ship-wide page alerting crew members that there was a rabbit on the loose, and that if they encountered him they were to call medical, or politely ask the rabbit if he would like a lift back to medical. Since all the crew knew what had happened to Spock by now, Kirk didn't feel _too_ foolish saying it, but he vowed to have words with his first officer when he had the ability to speak again. What could he be thinking, running off like this?

Kirk, of course, searched for Spock on his own. How far could one rabbit get? Pretty far, apparently, because he was ranging further and further away from medical with no sign of the rabbit. He was near the living quarters when he got Scotty's page.

"We've found him, Captain. He's in his quarters, safe and sound. Shall I send a security team to fetch him back?"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Scott. I'm near his quarters now. I'll take care of it."

Kirk turned down the hallway that led to Spock's quarters. Did this mean that Spock was at least somewhat aware of his own state after all? Or was it just an animal's instinct that had led him to a safe, warm place? Kirk thought of all the red on McCoy's scan and felt a nice, solid lump of worry settle in his stomach. He almost hit the buzzer, out of habit, but realized that a rabbit wouldn't be able to answer the door anyway and just walked in.

The door swished shut behind him and Kirk let his eyes adjust to the low light levels in the room. As always, the warm colors and the slightly higher temperature made the room feel cozy (though Kirk would never describe it as such to Spock). He felt a little of his tension release and looked around for the rabbit.

Spock wasn't hard to spot. He was sitting in the exact center of the bed, looking distinctly disheveled. It would appear he had been trying to get the homemade tunic off, with little success. It fastened down the back – the poor thing didn't have a chance. Without really thinking about it, Kirk crossed the room and sat down on the bed to free the rabbit from the shirt. Spock sat quietly while he undid the back and gently eased the paws through the sleeves, then folded the shirt neatly and set it aside. Spock the rabbit hunkered down close to Kirk's side and Kirk fought the natural urge to pet him.

"You worried us, you know," Kirk said reproachfully. "Disappearing like that. I should take you back to medical bay."

The rabbit looked up at Kirk and cocked one ear and Kirk smiled, thinking that gesture looked familiar enough.

"Fine, then. I guess I can't blame you for wanting to stay here. We've got the whole science department working on your problem. I'm sure we'll figure it out soon." Kirk sighed. "We sure could use your brain on this one, though."

The rabbit didn't respond. It was asleep. Kirk smiled. That was a good thing, at least. He got up as quietly as possible and headed back to confer with McCoy.

*

"Jim, I don't know if this is a good idea," McCoy said. "Just because he thinks he's cold doesn't mean he can't overheat. Comfy for a Vulcan could be deadly for a rabbit."

"I know, Bones. That's why I told engineering to lower the temperature in his rooms. I think just being there is making him more comfortable – a placebo effect, right? If he thinks he's warm, he'll be fine. He doesn't need to know we're keeping it rabbit-friendly in there," Kirk explained.

"Why Jim, I'm impressed. That should work out just fine."

"No need to sound so shocked," Kirk said with a grin. "Did you talk with the science teams?"

"Yeah, we compared notes, but I don't think it helped them much. The team studying those weird panels on the outside of the buildings are mostly back on board right now. They brought a few panels back for testing. Smart money's on them, but I'm thinking the anthropologists might be on to something, too. They just found a new room and they think there might be historical carvings on the walls under all the dirt. They're working on restoration – Sulu's actually down there helping them, turns out art restoration is one of his hobbies."

Kirk shook his head, laughing. "Of course. I'll head down there and see if there's anything I can do to help. Oh– any word from those experts you contacted?"

"Not yet," McCoy grumbled. "Probably think it's some kind of prank. It _is_ a little hard to believe."

"I know, but keep trying. I'll check back in later."

Kirk left medbay and headed for the labs, correctly guessing that he would find the ‘panels’ team in the largest of them. He recognized all five of the crew members gathered in the room. June Mendes (the ranking science officer at the moment) and Anthony Fraser were making adjustments on a laser array pointed at one of the slivery panels hanging suspended at the other end of the lab; science ensign Claudia Jones was inputting data to a large overhead screen, and Beth Yates and Chris Thompson were arguing over a mathematical formula. None of them noticed Kirk until he cleared his throat, and then all five looked up like startled meerkats.

"Captain!" Mendes exclaimed. "Just in time!" Fraser thrust a pair of tinted goggles into his hands and Yates and Thompson thrust him into a chair.

"We're about to run test number twenty-five," Yates explained. "I think you'll find the results most... illuminating!" All four of the other scientists cracked up and Kirk made a mental note to see that their caffeine got cut off.

"Ignition in 3...2...1..." Mendes flipped a switch and the lights in the room dimmed slightly, but other than that Kirk could see no effect.

"Fraser, get the lights. Jones, did you get that?" Mendes asked, flipping the tinted covers of her goggles up, squinting, then flipping them back down again.

"Got it, boss!" Jones called out. Fraser killed the lights in the lab and Kirk followed their gazes to the suspended panel. Which soon began to glow softly.

"70 cd," Jones called out. "100 cd. 130," she continued as the light continued to grow. "150. Annnd we're fading. 125. 100. 75. 50. 25. Candle's out."

Fraser turned the lights back on and everyone shoved their goggles up onto their heads, so Kirk did the same as everyone began to chatter excitedly.

"It faded a lot faster that time–"

"But at 150 cd with just that short impulse–"

"–prolonged exposure could result in–"

"–try a higher frequency, less concentrated?"

Kirk cleared his throat again and they all came to attention.  "That was very impressive, ladies and gentlemen. Now what does it tell us?"

Four heads turned to Mendes, who obliged. "We deconstructed a panel and discovered that they're built along something of the same lines as solar panels. But they don't react to the light of Lepus IV's star, so we've been bombarding it with other types of light. This, so far, is the only type to have had any effect on the panel, so we're experimenting with intensity and similar wavelengths to see what purpose it could have. We don't think it was made just to glow for a bit. The hypothesis is that there is a certain frequency we can hit that will cause these panels to actually store the light instead of emitting it all at once."

"But for what purpose?" Kirk asked. The scientists shrugged almost as one unit.

"We don't know yet," Mendes said. Then she smiled broadly. "But we haven't told you the most interesting part. The light we're using, the only light that has any effect? It's the same type of light that would have been reflected from Lepus' moon. Before it crashed into them, anyway. Full solar rays don't work. Moonlight does. It's _fascinating._ "

Kirk felt a small twinge at the word, but smiled weakly anyway. "Yes, it is. Keep up the good work." Kirk nodded his thanks at the team and left the lab, heading for the transporter room. It was time to talk with the anthropologists and see what they had uncovered – and whether they had any explanation as to how a pre-industrial society had developed lunar panels.

Unfortunately, that particular question was going to have to wait. The solar cycle on Lepus IV was particularly short, and since the anthropologists were doing their main work on the planet, they were already returning to the ship by the time Kirk was done with the applied scientists. He returned to medical instead and generally made a nuisance of himself trying to help McCoy until the doctor finally told him that they both had to get some sleep, or he was going to murder someone.

Kirk spent another night tossing and turning, occasionally dozing, and dreaming about trying to move life-sized chess pieces across a huge checkers board. The pieces were all shaped like rabbits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hikaru Sulu: Botanist, fencer, helmsman, costumer, art restoration expert. Go with it. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 9: In Which Kirk Considers the Cultural Implications of Poor Fashion Choices


	9. In Which Kirk Considers the Cultural Implications of Poor Fashion Choices

Kirk did not receive an answer to his question about the development of the lunar panels when he visited the anthropologists the next day, but he did receive several other answers. For example, he learned that, though they had structures above-ground, the people of Lepus IV had dwelt mostly beneath the surface: most activities of day-to-day life had taken place in the warren of tunnels and rooms below the visible city. Only cooking and meals were shared in the round halls of the village, while all crafting, caretaking, sleeping, and study happened underground.

“Based on what we’ve inferred from artwork and living arrangements, the area Mr. Spock fell through would have been one of the more important sectors – deep enough to be protected, with no easy access from outside, yet close to living quarters. What we haven’t figured out is why a storage room rates that kind of real estate,” explained Mr. Peterson, the sober anthropologist in charge of the ground team. He was considerably less excitable than his counterparts in the applied science lab on the ship. He and Kirk were standing in the storage area in question, furs still scattered from their hasty retrieval of one injured Vulcan.

“I guess it would depend on what they kept here,” Kirk commented.

“It seems to be mainly clothing, sir. And not particularly rare or valuable, either – the living quarters all have similar clothes in them, and there’s at least one of these robe things in every room, too, so it’s not the furs.”

“Maybe it was just convenient?” Kirk suggested, kneeling to examine the rough fur of one of the robe-like garments and trying not to think about Spock desperately huddling himself into them as the temperature dropped. He had still been tangled in one when they’d beamed back up, but where it had gone was as great a mystery as – hm. Kirk’s hand stilled. “What kind of fur would you say this is?” he asked.

Peterson shrugged. “I doubt it’s anything we’re familiar with. Hard to say – all the animals that lived on this planet are as extinct as the people.”

“They had so many of these things,” Kirk went on. “Why? A civilization that makes those beautiful lunar panels, that creates art, why would they have so many of these crude things? And for that matter,” he whirled on Mr. Peterson. “Where did they all go?”

“Sir?”

“The bodies, Peterson! If the hypothesis about a slow dying out due to dropping temperatures is correct, where are the graves?” 

“We expect to uncover a gravesite soon, Captain,” Peterson said. “But we haven’t made searching for one a priority, what with Mr. Spock’s condition.” 

“Right. Ok, do me a favor.” Kirk gathered up one of the robes and thrust it into Peterson’s arms. “Focus on these. They’re the one thing we _know_ Mr. Spock interacted with down here. They don’t match up. We’ve got lunar panels from a space-age culture, art from a culture that loves beauty, well-made clothing and living quarters from a culture that appreciates comfort… and these things that are neither comfortable nor aesthetically pleasing. There might be something there.”

“Yes, sir. We will look into it right away,” Mr. Peterson assured him – and if he looked a little uncomfortable to find his arms suddenly full of the very thing that might have resulted in someone being transformed into a rabbit, Kirk didn’t notice. He was already on his way back to the ship. 

*

No matter how much he wanted to spend all of his time working on their rabbit problem, Kirk still had a ship to run. There were reports to Starfleet to compile (Kirk was listing Spock’s condition as “Injured; non-life-threatening. Full recovery expected.” for the moment), logs to compile (he was more honest in these – he was fairly certain no one ever listened to them anyway. Who would have time for that?), PADDs to sign… the list went on.

So it wasn’t until the end of the cycle that Kirk was able to stop by Spock’s quarters again, this time with a meal in hand that McCoy had been about to send an ensign down with anyway. He pressed the door chime out of politeness and entered the now noticeably cooler, but still cozy, room. 

Spock peered out from around the corner behind his desk and, seeing Kirk, hopped into the open. Kirk sank down to the floor and rested his back against the bed, legs stretched out in front of him.

“I brought you dinner,” he said, sliding the tray over in Spock’s direction. Spock examined the bowl of green grass and hay mixed with vegetables, nose twitching. The dish of water received the same scrutiny, then rabbit Spock fixed Kirk with an unblinking (though disturbingly adorable) gaze.

“What?” Kirk asked, weary. “It’s practically the same thing you eat when you’re… you,” he pointed out reasonably. Spock looked to the food dish, then back up to Kirk, who returned his gaze nonplussed. Finally, Spock picked a carrot out of the mix, carried it in his mouth over to Kirk, and deposited it in his open palm.

“You’re asking if I’ve eaten? Of course I’ve– ow!” Spock bit Kirk’s thumb and Kirk yanked his hand away, more in surprise than pain. “Ok, ok. I’ll eat soon. Look.” He popped the carrot into his mouth as a sign of good faith. “I just… needed to get a break for a minute,” he said between crunches. 

Spock didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did proceed to eat his own meal.

“I can’t believe you bit your commanding officer,” Kirk complained. Spock ignored him. “You and I are having words when you get back to normal, my friend. Speaking of which, I think we’re making progress.”

Kirk explained everything he had learned from the two science teams that day, though he was really speaking more to himself, organizing and processing his thoughts and impressions since Spock couldn’t respond. Spock, in fact, gave no indication of being at all interested or comprehending of anything Kirk was saying. It was confusing; sometimes he acted like he was aware of what was going on, acted as much like Spock as a rabbit could act. But other times it was like he was just an ordinary bunny. Kirk wasn’t sure what to make of it – but, he thought, he could always ask Spock himself when they got him back to normal.

_Soon_ , he thought, and it was both a promise and a prayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed an update last week - sorry! Life happened. To make it up to you, I'll have another chapter up tomorrow : )
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Ten: In Which the Scientists Make a Promising Discovery


	10. In Which the Scientists Make a Promising Discovery

Kirk did not realize he had fallen asleep in Spock’s room until McCoy was shaking him awake hours later. He came to with a start, inadvertently startling the rabbit napping in the crook of his arm awake as well. Spock twitched as though he was trying to decide whether to run or remain frozen and Kirk stroked a soothing hand down his back without even thinking about it; it was instinct to calm a frightened animal. Then he realized what he was doing and carefully set Spock on the bed and looked up at McCoy accusingly. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, I did ring the bell,” McCoy said. “After paging you on the coms, too. You were out cold, Jim. And you skipped dinner.”

Kirk felt a little foolish avoiding the gaze of a rabbit at that, but he was fairly certain McCoy didn’t notice. 

“I ate.”

“Sure. And I’m the Pope. Jim, are we going to have to have the talk about overexerting yourself _again_?”

“No, no. I’m fine. And anyway if you’re so concerned about me resting properly, why’d you wake me up?” Kirk asked, finally rising to his feet and trying to stretch the kinks out.

“First off, sleeping in your own bed and sleeping on the floor of your first officer’s quarters are two entirely different things,” McCoy said, hands going to his hips. “HR would have a few things to say about that one, Jim.”

Kirk muttered something about maybe turning HR into space rabbits once they figured out how it was done and see how they liked it, but McCoy, his sense of self-preservation firmly intact, did not quite catch it. 

“Anyway, that’s not what I came down here for. The science teams want to talk to you. And since I’m the only one able to find you these days, it seems I get to play secretary. They’re in the lab.”

“Ah, good, thanks Bones,” Kirk said.

“Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe go make yourself presentable first?”

“Oh. Right.” He badly needed a change of clothes, a comb, and a toothbrush. He glanced around and noticed Spock under the bed. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully with good news,” he reassured him. McCoy raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

*

Kirk was greeted by the excited faces of the applied science team as well as Mr. Peterson and his anthropologists, all crammed into the lab. Even Peterson looked… well, at the very least, anticipatory. The lunar panel was still suspended from the ceiling, but everyone’s attention was on a lab table in the middle of the room. This time, however, Kirk did not have to clear his throat to get noticed.

“Captain, we have made a Discovery,” Peterson said as soon as he walked in. Kirk could hear the capital letter. He gestured for him to get on with it. 

“Those robes you instructed us to look into – they aren’t furs at all. They’re – well we don’t actually have a word for it yet. Sort of like fiber optics?” he looked to Mendes for confirmation and she nodded. 

“The reason they feel so coarse and heavy is because they’re loaded with a microscopic electronics system of some kind. It’s interwoven throughout the entire garment!” Mendes said, gesturing to one of the robes which lay sprawled over the lab table, wires crawling out from underneath it. “We’re working on the exact function, but we think – given the situation – it may be transformative.” 

“Tell him about the transporter,” Peterson cut in. 

“I was getting to it!” Mendes protested. “You remember our lunar panels, Captain?” Kirk nodded. “We discovered the appropriate amount of light to make them do their storage thing. But when the stored energy is tapped into, it’s released not as light, but as radiation. It’s not a side effect, it’s the _purpose_ of these panels.”

“It’s not harmful to us, is it?” Kirk asked, trying to understand why this was important.

“Not at all – that’s the point. The radiation is nearly identical to the background radiation that floods the transporter pad every time we beam someone up or down. Totally harmless and not even noticeable to humans, but look what happens when the robe is in the presence of the radiation.” Mendes said. 

On cue, the other scientists backed away from the table to let Mendes, Peterson, and Kirk through. Peterson folded back a section of the robe so that Kirk could see the rough, canvas-like lining and Mendes pulled down a magnifier and cranked up the power. Kirk peered through and saw that the coarse lining was, indeed, made up of millions of tiny, flexible circuits, with–

“Wait, what are those – those nodes?” he asked.

“Well spotted!” Mendes exclaimed. “Reflectors? Refractors? Whatever they are, they look an awful lot like certain components of our transporters, only miniaturized.”

“Are you saying–” 

“I’m not saying anything yet!” Mendes said, holding her hands up. “We’re _hypothesizing_ that this garment, or whatever it is, emits a highly localized field which has a similar effect to the break-down and re-establishment processes of a transporter pad.”

Kirk looked from her to Peterson and back several times, parsing this statement. “This– if you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me, this is the best news I’ve had in several days. Commander Spock was wearing one of these when we beamed up. If it was activated by the background radiation of the transporter… all we have to do is send him back through, right?” It seemed too good to be true.

“Er, maybe,” Peterson said apologetically. “We know that the radiation triggers these. A second dose seems to trigger them the same way, at least mechanically speaking. As far as we can tell, there isn’t a ‘reverse’ gear on this thing…” 

“But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work!” Mendes put in. “We would just like to run some tests before we try it on Mr. Spock.”

“Let’s run some tests, then.” 

* 

The science team kept the transporter room busy for hours. They already knew that beaming up the robes in a cargo box had had no strange effects. Peterson wanted to jump right to having someone simply _hold_ the robe instead of wearing it and see if that made a difference, but Mendes put a stop to that quickly. Besides, Kirk was quick to point out, he’d been basically holding a robe when he beamed up with Spock, and only Spock had been affected. Maybe the inner lining had to be touching a living entity for anything to happen. Mendes questioned the specificity of the phrase “living entity,” though, which led to them wrapping the robe around an apple and beaming it up and down with no effect. 

The next theory was that the robe somehow honed in on the brain’s electrical signals, so they wrapped a computer in the robe and sent it up and down, the theory being that computers could “think” and so that might fool the robe. No one was particularly surprised when an android bunny failed to appear, though.

Finally, they were out of tests they could try without involving a living subject, and Kirk put his foot down. 

“Look, even if this doesn’t reverse what happened to Mr. Spock, there’s no harm in sending a rabbit through the transporter. I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it,” he reasoned. No one had any grounds for objection and Kirk went to fetch Spock, stopping by medbay on the way back. It never hurt to have a doctor on hand, after all. 

When Kirk explained what they were about to try to McCoy, the doctor just shook his head, but went along. First, though, he handed Kirk the crate they had kept Spock in that first day. 

“A little more dignified than being hauled around through the halls,” he pointed out, and Kirk agreed, though he carried the box very carefully.

When they returned, Kirk donned a heatsuit and beamed down first so that someone would be there when Spock got sent down. He didn’t say it out loud, but the last thing they needed was a confused rabbit hopping away and getting lost. He waited impatiently for the transporter room to confirm his safe landing and then to inform him that Spock would be appearing shortly. The tell-tale bending in the light heralded his arrival and Kirk held his breath.

But when the glow cleared, it was a rabbit that appeared. Kirk let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and opened his communicator.

“Kirk to _Enterprise_. Experiment failed. Two to beam back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you didn't think it was going to be as simple as that, did you? No, indeed...
> 
> Sorry about the apple. I needed some form of organic matter to run the test with, and initially was going to use a plant but then in my head Sulu looked at me really sadly because he didn't want me doing science on his babies (never mind that he does science on them like, all the time). The cold from Lepus IV would probably be bad for them anyway... Anyhow, blame Sulu for the ridiculous image of wrapping fruit in a Snugee and transporting it to a frozen planet.
> 
> For the computer - it was probably a tablet of some kind, given where Star Trek tech tends to be - the reasoning was that the electrical impulses that allow a computer to work (the hard drive's circuits, etc) aren't terribly dissimilar from the neural pathways of a brain. In case anyone was wondering, if this were Star Trek: TNG, I do not believe the robe would work on Data (based on my existing knowledge of that series and how Data was made).
> 
> Sorry for the long note - stay tuned for Chapter 11: In Which McCoy Cleverly Manipulates Kirk into Regulating His Sleep Cycle


	11. In Which McCoy Cleverly Manipulates Kirk into Regulating His Sleep Cycle

Kirk didn’t realize how much he had been hoping the transporter experiment would fix Spock until it failed. Despite the assurances of the science team that there were plenty of other things they could try and still more aspects of the culture, the robes, and the light panels to be examined, Kirk felt dejected. He thanked the science team for their hard work, told them to keep it up and keep him informed of any breakthroughs, handed Spock to McCoy, and returned to his own quarters to sleep.

The only good thing to come of this was that, with a discovery of technology like this, Starfleet couldn’t order them to give up the mission and move on. Miniaturized transporter technology? No, the _Enterprise_ wasn’t going anywhere until they solved this puzzle, and that was something of a relief.

Kirk slept a full cycle. McCoy let him and let it be known that anyone who threatened the captain’s health by disturbing him would get a hypo shoved somewhere unpleasant. When Kirk did emerge, he went straight to the bridge to fulfill his duties and was on his way right back to his own quarters again at the end of his shift when McCoy hijacked him in the hallway and practically hauled him to medbay.

“I don’t need an eval, Bones, I’m _fine_. Just tired.”

“Like hell. Excessive sleeping, failure to eat–”

“I hardly think one cycle counts as–”

“General _surliness,_ though it’s hard to tell with you–”

“Fine! Just do your stupid eval and leave me alone,”

“See? Surliness. All general signs of depression,”

“I am _not–_ "

“And not the reason I’ve dragged you to medical.”

“What?”

“Jim, I’m worried about you, but you can handle yourself. I took some fresh scans of Spock after you handed him off to me day before last, and I’m not liking what I’m seeing,” McCoy said, suddenly dead serious.

“Show me.”

Having examined the prior scans, Kirk could easily see the difference here. The red parts seemed brighter, angrier, and the other colors more subdued. And the pressure seemed to be spreading.

“Is he in danger?” Kirk asked.

“Spock the rabbit? No. Spock the Vulcan? I’m afraid so. The hardware’s asserting itself. If we don’t find a way to fix him soon, Spock won’t be fit for anything but a class pet.” 

Kirk sighed and sat down on one of the beds, propping his elbows on his knees and massaging his forehead. “The science crew?”

McCoy shook his head. “They’re working as fast as they can, but they’re only human. Well, most of them anyway. Last I heard, they were following up on a series of paintings about some kind of festival they think might give a clue, but there are several damaged or missing.”

Kirk stood and began to pace.

“You can’t do anything to help them right now,” McCoy said. “The best you can do is stay out of their way. They don’t need the added pressure. Why don’t you go visit Spock?”

Kirk’s glance was stricken, pained. “I don’t know if I… not when there might be nothing I can… that he might never…”

“It’s not for you,” McCoy said softly. “He’s terrified, Jim.”

“What? How could you know–”

“I had Scotty direct surveillance in Spock’s room straight to me. Attending physician’s prerogative, you know,” McCoy said with a shrug when Kirk raised his eyebrows at this clear breach of privacy. “The point is, Jim, he hasn’t slept at all since you left him with me. He just sits there, shaking in the middle of the bed, twitching at every noise and even at a few noises that don’t actually exist. So will you go–”

But Kirk was already out the door.

*

Kirk gave the door chime a short jab before entering, unable to bring himself to simply walk into Spock’s quarters. He found Spock indeed sitting directly in the center of the bed, completely motionless, watching Kirk with wide dark eyes.

“Spock,” Kirk said, crossing to the bed and kneeling on the floor next to it. He folded his arms on the mattress and rested his chin on them, bringing himself to eye-level with the rabbit. “Hey. Calm down. That’s an order, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, though he felt a little ridiculous putting on the command voice from this position. But it seemed to work. Spock’s eyes got a little less wide, his ears went back marginally. But then some miniscule sound caught his attention – a voice raised slightly loudly in the hallway – and his ears twitched forward and his eyes bulged a little and he shivered, attention distracted from Kirk.

“Hey. Hey, listen to me. You’re going to hurt yourself, jumping at shadows like this. Spock? Spock. Yeah, that’s it, just listen to my voice. It’s going to be–” Kirk’s voice broke a little, but he cleared his throat and continued. “It’s going to be ok. Good.”

Spock had relaxed his ears a little and moved a little closer. Then, to Kirk’s surprise, the rabbit shoved his head under Kirk’s chin and tried to burrow into the space between his chest and arms.

“Hey, what are you – oh.” Some piece of equipment somewhere clattered and Spock barely flinched. “Ok. Um, I’m going to pick you up, all right? Maybe this’ll work a little better.” Kirk realized that Spock was trying to get closer to the sound of his voice, and probably his heartbeat too. Even if that wasn’t what he was trying to do, though, and this was just some weird rabbit thing, it wasn’t a bad idea. Kirk gathered the rabbit up in his arms and sat on the bed, leaning against the headrest to put his chest at a slight incline to make it easier for Spock to keep his balance.

“Hm. I guess for this to work, I have to keep talking, huh? I don’t know what to say. I could teach you a song – I know, I’ll teach you ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat.’ It’s a traditional Earth song, makes no sense at all, you’ll probably hate it…” Kirk trailed off because Spock appeared to be sleeping. And that was convenient because Kirk was supposed to be sleeping, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ok, Kirk will get around to teaching Spock that song later. In movie five (The Final Frontier), to be exact.
> 
> So, my poor computer is in the hospital again. And yet I update. This is how much I love you. Enough to boot up a crotchety old dinosaur, wrestle it into submission, and brave the internet on an OS four iterations old. You're welcome.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 12: In Which Uhura Translates Some Trashy Romance Novels


	12. In Which Uhura Translates Some Trashy Romance Novels

Kirk woke on his own the next morning exactly on time, except that he would have to return to his own quarters to change clothes. If he was going to make a habit of sleeping here, he thought, he should probably bring some things to save time. And if his being here meant Spock slept, or meditated, or did whatever it was rabbit Vulcans needed to do to recharge and stay calm during a crisis, then he did fully intend to make a habit of it.

When Kirk stirred to rise, Spock seemed to recall his situation and became agitated again. “Woah, hey, calm down,” Kirk told him, gently removing the rabbit from his chest to the bed. “I will be back in a few hours. Promise. I’m not going to abandon you. Here,”

He turned on the cabin’s sound system which contained nothing but Vulcan music, and which was perfect for this situation. It would drown out alarming noises and he hoped the familiarity of it would help keep Spock calm. “See you tonight.”

*

When Kirk returned exactly on schedule, with a few changes of clothes and some toiletries, Spock still seemed stressed but not as agitated as he had been before. The sight of the clothing seemed to reassure him, though Kirk was beginning to question his own sanity if he thought he could look at a rabbit and know whether it felt reassured.

That night he talked to Spock about everyone on the bridge. The anthropologists had found some written records and Uhura was using her linguistic skills to help decode them. Sulu was still helping with art and artifact restoration. Basically, the bridge was running on second string with the exception of Chekov, who Kirk thought was beginning to harbor ambitions of captaincy – which was why, Kirk joked, he had to make sure he put in appearances on the bridge. If he wasn’t careful, Chekov and his dimples would lead a mutiny and Kirk would have to find a new place to sit.

As he had the night before, Spock fell asleep listening to Kirk’s heartbeat and the reverberation of his voice in his chest.

They followed the same pattern the next night. Kirk tried not to think too much about whether Spock’s actions were becoming more rabbit-like as the science team failed to find anything conclusive about reversing the effects of what they were now referring to as the “transformation field.” He found that having to maintain his composure for the tiny creature now dependent on him helped his own mental state as well, and suspected that McCoy had known this would happen. He was certainly sleeping better than he would have been on his own.

The next day brought the first hopeful news that they had had in a while. Uhura had translated some of the writing they’d found. It appeared to be a catalog of everything kept in the storeroom where they had found most of the robes. The record was kept on a material that resembled cloth more than paper and, with the extreme cold, hadn’t deteriorated much. Some of the older catalogs were unreadable due to faded ink, but they had several years’ worth of inventory for that storeroom now.

Uhura explained that this was important because now they could see that the overall stock of robes didn’t change over the years. Sometimes more would be in storage, sometimes less, but with what they knew of the living quarters and population, they could determine that there were no more than two hundred robes in existence. When the population was lower than two hundred, the extra robes were put into storage.

“And Peterson tells me that the population never grew larger than two hundred. I think it’s safe to say that their way of life depended on these robes, but more importantly, they didn’t make them themselves. Otherwise why not just make more? And the language – I’d expect a culture like this to develop a more symbolic language, but they have an alphabet similar to Earth’s Western languages. 30 characters repeated in different combinations to form words.” She gestured at the splitscreen showing her work on the document on one side and her translation on the other. “The language is dead, so I can’t guess at sounds, but I can make Standard correlations. Their vocal cord structure was probably similar to ours. Anyway, I don’t think we’re dealing with a culture that developed in isolation on this planet.”

“You mean they were influenced by some more advanced culture?”

“Probably. Can you imagine only having two hundred people on an entire planet? I know it’s not a very _large_ planet, but still. It’s strange, and it doesn’t follow natural patterns of diffusion and evolution.” She hummed thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t be the first time a stray starship influenced a culture,” she said. “But it wasn’t one from Earth, and I don’t think it’s any of the races we’ve encountered so far – someone would have mentioned if they had tech like this.”

“So we’re looking at alien technology with origins somewhere other than this planet. Would have been nice of them to leave some manuals behind, too,” Kirk commented. Uhura laughed.

“You’re telling me. The only other pieces of writing we’ve found seem to be fiction. A manual would be much easier to translate. But we have found some interesting themes in the literature – they loved telling stories about the transformation. Usually love stories.” Her mouth quirked up. “Bad ones. But anyway, the transformation seems to be romanticized. Everyone puts on the robes at once in this big ceremony, but when they turn back is almost completely random as far as I can tell.”

“I think the restoration team found something along those lines,” Kirk said. Uhura nodded.

“Yes, I would guess that the part about the ceremony is true, but I’m not sure about the changing back. In the stories, it’s like it’s completely random, but if a pair of people turn back at the same time they’re destined to be together. But the characters always seem so surprised, which would suggest there really is no way to predict it. That might just be a literary device, though, or maybe I’m missing something. We probably shouldn’t base any conclusions on the fiction, though.”

Kirk wished her luck on decoding the rest of the material and went to visit Scotty on the off chance that he had heard some barroom rumor of anything like this tech and had simply forgotten to mention it. Scotty had a small troop of engineers now mixed in with the scientists and had appropriated one of the robes for himself, as well. If anyone could figure out the mechanics of the thing, it would be him.

*

Scotty was somewhere belowdecks, but it was a big ship and Scotty was Scotty, so Kirk only let himself wander around looking for him for a few minutes before caving and asking an engineering ensign where he could find the head of his department. This lead to an argument between three red-shirted young crewmembers who had each seen Scotty somewhere different just a moment ago. They didn't notice when Kirk left them to it, went to stand sort of in the middle of the cavernous area, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out,

"Scotty! It's alien tech!"

"Well of _course_ it's alien!" came the accented reply from... somewhere above. Kirk looked up. He could just see Scotty's head poking over the side of a wide exhaust duct. "If the Federation had something like this, d'ye think we'd be usin' it t' turn folk into rabbits? I think no!"

"Hang on, I'll be right up!" Kirk called back, hastening to a ladder that would bring him to a parallel catwalk. When he was more or less on level with Scotty, he could see that Scotty had made a disaster of the robe, peeling the backing away from the furry part. Why he had to do it astride the ductwork, though, was at present indeterminate.

"I meant alien to the planet. I guess you don't think they could have made it themselves?"

Scotty scoffed. "Not bloody likely. I couldn't make this. I mean I could, but I'd be makin' it outta glass an' spit. Do you know what this is?!" he brandished a fistful of copper wires in Kirk's direction.

"Uh... copper wires?"

"No! Copper? No!" Scotty looked disgusted.

"Well, what is it then?"

"I dinnae!" He dropped the bundle in exasperation. "I dinnae what half this junk is, and the other half I'm only half sure about so I guess I could identify mebbe a quarter of these materials? If I had to?"

"Ok... but did you figure out how it worked before you took it apart?" Kirk asked.

"That's _why_ I took it apart. Turns out the fur isn't just decoration, it's part of the system. Oh, and, it's a sensory part! It takes inputs. Say, you wouldn't happen to have a bit o' Spock's fur handy, would ye?" Scotty asked suddenly.

"I... could get some," Kirk said. "...why?"

"If his fur is the same as _this_ fur, well, that would tell us something."

"I think Bones already did a full analysis. It's rabbit fur, that's all."

Scotty looked so disappointed that Kirk quickly backtracked. "But, you know, you should double check with him. You know he doesn't get into technicalities with me."

Scotty was nodding. "Right, well, I'm thinking: sensory inputs, yeah? Checking temperatures, checking radiation levels. Could be the key to this reverse switch we're looking for. Could be it's automatic."

Kirk quickly tamped down the hope that was threatening to blossom in his chest. "That's a good lead, Scotty. Tell you what, I'll swing by medical and see what Bones has to say."

Scotty waved him off and Kirk didn't even bother with the steps down the catwalk, using the railings for a controlled jump down the stairs instead.

*

McCoy looked intrigued at Scotty's idea about the fur and, to Kirk's relief, didn't immediately shoot it down. He had used blood when running DNA tests, not hair, since the former was more accurate. The fur sample he’d taken he had only to run a few chemical tests (which had turned out inconclusive anyway). The fur could very well actually be a remarkably accurate synthetic fiber.

"Of course that would mean it's a growing, half-biological fiber," McCoy pointed out. "My scans didn't miss _that_ much. But look, animal-machine hybrids aren't half so uncommon as they once were. Could be something like that. Or could even be completely biological and still operate as – what did he call it? Sensory input? We've encountered stranger things," he mused, walking over to the crate that still had some folded blankets lining it. "The fact that there's fur on these blankets seems to suggest that they're biological – what kind of machine just falls apart?"

"So, what about Scotty's theory?"

"Hold your horses, I'm getting there," McCoy said, carefully picking out just one hair and placing it under a magnifier. "One of my rabbit specialists got back to me," he said as he examined the hair. "Didn't say much of anything of use, but mentioned what... er... breed he thinks Spock might be. I'll just see if this hair matches that breed. If it does, then we're out of luck, because I don't think Belgian Hares have fur that– huh."

"Huh? What's huh? Is it good?"

"Uh... maybe. I'm not a rabbit expert, Jim, but this doesn't look like I was expecting. I mean, it's structured like a hair but there's something odd at the base. Scans didn’t pick that up. I'm going to compare a few others, send some slides to the experts, and go talk to Scotty. I'll give you a full report tomorrow."

Kirk was about to protest that he would stay and help, but noticed the time. He was going to be late if he didn't hurry, and it was important that he not break their pattern now. Spock was just beginning to expect him, and McCoy said that surveillance showed that he was more relaxed particularly in the time leading up to Kirk's regular arrival.

Kirk thanked McCoy and headed to Spock's cabin, reflecting that his sleep schedule was much improved now that someone else was depending on it.

*

That night, Kirk talked about the progress they'd made. He talked about Uhura's translations, the artwork the anthropologists were studying, and most of all about Scotty's theory that the whole process might just be set up to reverse automatically, and how Bones’ findings seemed to support it.

Maybe there was a trigger to find, or maybe it would wear off over time, but Kirk was more optimistic than he had been in a long time about Spock's recovery. He didn't want to get his or Spock's hopes up, but he knew his excitement showed through in his voice, and hell, probably right down to his heartbeat too. But he couldn't help it – and anyway, it didn't seem to stop Spock from nodding off just as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your entire species died out and the only piece of writing future visitors could find and translate was Twilight. They would probably come to some interesting conclusions about your life.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 13: In Which Kirk and Spock Muss Spock’s Bedding Rather Thoroughly


	13. In Which Kirk and Spock Muss Spock’s Bedding Rather Thoroughly

A weight on his chest – heavier than a rabbit – woke Kirk up a few hours after he'd fallen asleep. He started to roll over absently to give his bedmate, who seemed to be a good bit taller than him, a little more space and to get out from under the body that was half on top of him. Then he realized where he was and sat up with a jerk.

"Lights– what the hell is– gah!" In his scramble, Kirk ended up tumbling out of the bed as the lights came up. They revealed one slumbering Vulcan and one of those damned robes, now tangled with the bed linens and rather askew – which in turn revealed that said Vulcan had, somewhere along the way, lost every stitch of clothing he'd been wearing.

Kirk let out a giddy laugh as relief flooded him and he reached over to shake Spock's shoulder and wake him. "Spock. Spock, wake up! You're– oh hell." Kirk recoiled and lunged to his feet, uttering invective toxic enough to be outlawed on the more conservative planets as he rushed for the coms unit.

"Bones!" he called, practically falling on the button and paging medbay.

"Dr. McCoy has retired to his quarters, Captain," came the calm, professional voice of Nurse Chapel. "How can I help?"

"Wake him! And get a gurney to Spock's quarters – fast." He barely heard her acknowledgement, turning back to Spock and trying to force his brain into action. Med kit... there had to be one, he was sure Spock kept one. A few seconds’ rummaging turned it up in the logical place, and Kirk knelt at the bedside with it.

Spock was, indeed, Spock-shaped once more, but he was still wounded – not asleep, but unconscious. His injuries looked like the same wounds he'd had when Kirk and McCoy had found him on Lepus IV, but still fresh even though it had been over a week. The bed was covered in blood. Kirk looked down at himself. _He_ was covered in blood.

"Damn it, Spock, nothing is ever simple with you," Kirk muttered under his breath. He balled up an already-ruined blanket, flung the robe angrily out of the way, and pressed the blanket to Spock's side. He wasn't sure what else to do. There wouldn't be anything in Spock's small med kit to cope with a wound this large.

Luckily, he didn't have to worry about it long, because McCoy burst into the room at that moment, looking only slightly sleep-rumpled. Nurse Chapel and an ensign waited in the hallway with a gurney.

McCoy paused only momentarily to take in the situation. Kirk figured it must look pretty gruesome – unconscious Vulcan, bed covered in blood, himself in a similar state – but McCoy didn't blink, only began scanning Spock immediately. He summoned Nurse Chapel into the room and had her assist with binding the wound, all the while keeping up a steady commentary, probably for the benefit of Kirk's sanity.

"Laceration on the left side, no organ damage. Dislocated shoulder, bruising to the ribs and skull – good thing it's so hard. Other damage is slight. Begin temporary binding, we'll do a more thorough one once we have him in a proper diagnostic bed. Will that gurney fit in the door? No? Who designed this ship anyway? Ok, let's lift him, watch the shoulder, 1, 2, 3, ok, go – Jim you might want to get a clean-up crew in here."

And just like that, Spock was in the hovering gurney – the kind that closed over the patient and monitored vitals while he was transferred to wherever he was going, which was good, Kirk thought, because there wasn't a clean blanket anywhere and he sure as hell wasn't draping that robe over him – and out of Kirk's hands, and he was going to be _fine_ , Kirk was sure, not even McCoy would sound that calm and practical if his life was hanging by a thread...

Kirk let out a shaky little breath and reigned in his careening thoughts. Clean up crew. Then up to medbay where McCoy would tell him to piss off until they were done, and he would hover around uselessly anyway. Good. Yes.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling, and if anyone had walked by at that moment they would have said the smile was more than a little manic. But the scientists were going to be _pissed,_ because Spock's sudden transformation didn't make a bit of sense from where he was standing. He couldn't wait to tell them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Kirk. It's not nice to troll the scientists.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 14: In Which Spock Finds Cause for Laughter, and Kirk Does Not


	14. In Which Spock Finds Cause for Laughter and Kirk Does Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for PTSD. Please let me know if there's anything else I should be tagging for my readers.

Spock opened his eyes – _his_ eyes, no more monocular vision, grainy shapes, or limited color ranges – and took in the medbay ceiling. He could hear the hum and beep of the bed he was in informing him that his vitals were all as they should be. Other than that, the room was dead silent.

He took stock of his facilities. He ached, but it was the ache of lack of movement, not the ache of broken bones and lacerations. He sat up cautiously and was relieved to find himself quite capable of doing so. He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and paused a moment to examine the room more closely.

It was plain and tiny, intended for use in case they should ever have a coma patient on their hands, or anyone else who required isolation to recover for reasons not related to contagion (there were much more secure, less comfortable rooms for that). This room contained only the bed and two chairs. On one of the chairs was a folded uniform.

Spock stood and reached for the tunic, catching up the blue fabric with a deep sense of relief. To remove the standard medical garb he wore was the work of moments. He found the uniform's black undershirt and tugged it over his head, snatching up each consequent component just as quickly, assembling the image of a science officer – perhaps one who had overslept and was late for his shift, but a science officer nonetheless. Someone had even left shoes tucked tidily under the chair. When he was finished dressing, Spock straightened, smoothing out the slacks and tugging the front of the tunic into neatness. He felt–

Spock stopped short, fingers still curled around the hem of his shirt. This was relief after panic. This was haste. This was reaction without diagnosis. This was unacceptable. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, determined to quell the uprising in his mind. The results were not encouraging.

Mentally, he was in disarray. The well-ordered corridors of his mind were cluttered with the detritus one might associate with any human. He no sooner got one scattered impulse under control than he ran into another, a question made his train of thought jump the tracks, a random hypothesis answered a question that hadn't been asked.

_How long was I unconscious? What was the cause of my apparent transformation? Was it really a transformation? I'm hungry. Maybe I was dreaming. I seem to be healed, that should give me a measure of time. Why is it so quiet? I wonder where Jim is. What did I do with my tricorder? Did I leave it on the planet? My side hurts. What's that noise?_

Spock's head swiveled to the door. He could hear voices on the other side and took an unconscious step back, putting the bed between it and him. Then he noticed what he had done and frowned severely, forcing himself to step around the bed and face the door as it opened.

Kirk walked through the door, his head craned over his shoulder as he finished his conversation with someone Spock couldn't see. He didn't turn around until the door was sliding shut behind him, and then he froze. Spock watched Kirk's eyes widen with surprise, then disbelief, then crinkle with pure joy. Spock watched the emotions chase each other across Kirk's face, and then he _felt_ them, right across the room, two quick successive waves punctuated by that clarion happiness so sharp and clear that Spock actually gasped and took a step backward, his hand going to his temple in a useless gesture.

"Spock! What is it?" Kirk crossed the tiny room in one stride, clearly intending to support Spock, but the Vulcan held out an arm, staying him. Kirk stopped, but the volley of emotion did not. _A quick pinprick of rejection, a warm flood of understanding, both flavored with confusion and concern._ How, _how_ could anyone feel that many things so rapidly?

"Please... Captain. A moment," he said, his voice dry and dusty with disuse. He hoped the hoarseness would conceal any uncontrollable tremor.

Kirk nodded. "I'll, uh, I'll get you some water. And get Bones in here," he said, turning to go.

"Wait."

Kirk stopped instantly. _Hope, eagerness, a feeling of being wanted, oh gods my head..._ He was worse than a child right now, his mental barriers completely gone.

"I can't– one person at a time, please. I can't..." How could he explain something like this? The fact that even the natural discipline that every child on a world of telepaths developed seemed to have deserted him? A sudden black humor took him. "I suppose you could say I have been emotionally compromised, Captain," he said. And then he started laughing. And couldn't stop, not even when the red wall of Kirk's alarm slammed into him, sudden and bitter. He just sank down into the bed, put his face in his hands, and kept laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get a whole Vulcan to work with. Well, more or less. It's a process.
> 
> Stay tuned for chapter 15: In Which Spock Leaves Medbay Without Permission AGAIN


	15. In Which Spock Leaves Medbay without Permission *Again*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the summary of this fic to something that might actually be useful to future readers. If you like the new summary, you can thank [kitbaker123](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kitbaker123) for prodding me into updating it :)

By the time McCoy entered the room – alone, blessedly alone – Spock had gotten himself more or less under control. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his head was still in his hands, but he was breathing deeply and quietly and this time he was prepared to face another person. He dropped his hands and straightened when the door swished shut.

McCoy was a deep, grey grumble of concern, but his emotions didn't burst outward from him like Kirk's did. He was more like background noise, constant but not distracting once you got used to it. Spock relaxed incrementally and stood.

"Sit back down, you fool," McCoy ordered. Spock did so as McCoy took a chair for himself. "Ok. What'll it be?"

"Doctor?"

"Do you want to explain to me what's going on, or shall I explain it to you?"

"As you are the only medical professional in this room, the logical course of action would be for you to present me with your findings," Spock said. McCoy snorted.

"Well you seem fine to _me_ ," he muttered. Spock felt a small sense of triumph, which he immediately seized and crammed into a broom cupboard with the other stray emotions he'd been running into while hurriedly tidying his mind. It was a temporary measure – a broom cupboard could get full terribly quickly and he didn't like to think what would happen if it overflowed. But until he could rebuild some form of discipline, he was gratified to know he could at least feign it well enough around low-emoting humans like the doctor. It helped him feel more like himself.

Then he realized McCoy had been saying something to him and he'd missed it.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, could you repeat that?" he said. A bright frisson went through McCoy's cloud of concern, pushing the edges out further. Spock forced himself not to recoil. McCoy gave him an odd look.

"I was just saying that we had you pretty well patched up a few days ago when you stopped being a rabbit suddenly. But you've been essentially comatose since then. Like your body just went into stasis without the help of any technology. Figures you'd wake up the moment we left you alone for any length of time." McCoy sounded personally put out by Spock's lack of consideration in this matter, but Spock was fascinated to note that his emotions actually changed for the positive. Spock's newfound emotional insight told him that McCoy was relieved because a good part of him had thought Spock might never wake up at all.

Spock shook his head and pressed a hand to his temple again. This was no good. He couldn't rely on this weak part of himself for information, and he _certainly_ shouldn't be using it to apprehend the innermost feelings of non-telepaths. It was an invasion of the highest magnitude.

"Are you getting headaches?" McCoy asked, reaching for the medical kit he had brought with him.

"I am, but it is not something you can cure, Doctor. I would be better served if you told me exactly what happened to me from the beginning."

McCoy huffed at that, but explained quickly enough: How they had found Spock severely injured in the tunnels below the village on Lepus IV. How a trip through the transporter left them with a rabbit on their hands. How the science teams had worked day and night to find answers.

Here, Spock interrupted: he wanted to know what the answers were. McCoy tried his best to explain it but dammit, he was a doctor not a... well, a combination of anthropologists, physicists, linguists, engineers, and biologists. But he knew enough that Spock was able to get a general picture of the science behind what had happened and it was fascinating. Once he was able, he would certainly need to speak with everyone involved and run some tests of his own. 

"And then, a few nights ago, you just turned up... Vulcan. Still with all of your injuries just as they were, I might add. We patched you up, you had a 72-hour nap, and here we are."

"But what reversed the transformation?" Spock asked. McCoy just shrugged.

"We're working on that. Scotty's having fits. You feel up to answering a few questions about your time in Wonderland?"

Spock missed the reference, but understood the question well enough. The truth was, he was not "up to" answering questions. Maintaining his composure and his distance from even McCoy's steady emotions, deliberately striving not to read them, was taking its toll and he was tired.

"What do you need to know?" Spock asked.

McCoy studied him hard for a few moments. "Hm. That's a 'no' I think," he decided. "We need to figure out what's going on in that Vulcan brain of yours now before we move on to what happened in the past."

"With all due respect, Doctor, my mental state is something I can repair myself. I require only time."

_Skeptical disbelief, smothering concern_. It was getting harder to hold himself apart from McCoy's feelings.

"Will you at least tell me what it is, then?" McCoy asked. _Resignation._

Spock hesitated, but only briefly. Someone should know what he was facing, and the ship's chief medical officer would be a logical choice. Besides, McCoy would have to sign off on any leave of absence Spock took for medical reasons.

"Yes. I seem to be experiencing a heightened state of emotional awareness," he said. He spoke a little too quickly, his voice shook just a little. Hearing himself say it was harder than it should have been. "Of others' emotions as well as..." If he was being perfectly honest, he had to say this part as well. "...as well as my own."

There. It was out. He knew what he'd receive from any Vulcan: pity, distress, possibly even disgust depending on the age of the Vulcan in question and how far along the path of cthia they were. But looking up at McCoy, he was greeted only with a smile, and a softening of his emotions – relief?

"Well! Look, Spock, if being a little more human was as bad as all that, fewer people would do it. Cheer up – a few feelings aren't the end of the world."

Spock stared. He could _feel_ McCoy's emotions. The doctor meant no malice, no harm at all: it was just another of his familiar jibes that he used to express friendship for some unfathomable reason. Spock had decided long ago to ignore these types of remarks as inconsequential. And yet, there it was, barreling at him from whatever dark recess of his mind it had slipped to: his own anger. He was angry. He was moments away from losing his temper.

Instead, he clenched his fist and fixed McCoy with an intense stare. "Before you make light of this situation, Doctor," he ground out. "I would suggest you review the history of pre-Awakening Vulcan. Then, if you would like to tell me that Vulcan emotion is harmless, you may do so. I hope, for your sake, that I have recovered myself sufficiently by that time."

And without another word, ignoring McCoy's protests, he left.

* 

Spock's anger must have shown on his face because no one bothered him on his way back to his quarters. From the people he passed in the hallway, he felt the same emotions over and over again: surprise at his presence, curiosity, sometimes an impulse to speak with him, but always overruled by sudden intimidation. By the time he got to his quarters, the anger had dwindled and he was just feeling raw and exhausted again. He entered the familiar space with great relief and just stood for a few moments in the middle of the room, getting his bearings.

Something felt subtly wrong and it took him a little while to pinpoint it. It wasn't the bed – the bedding was crisp and new and the bed was made the way only the cleaning staff would do it. Of course – they'd had to replace all of it. From the way McCoy described it, it was a miracle nothing was permanently stained green. That was it, though: the smell was ever so subtly off. He could detect lingering traces of chemical solvents and... something else. What was that?

He looked around, moving around the space mainly just to reassert his own presence in it. But then his eye alighted on a few articles that didn't belong, neatly stacked on the shelves. A few folded pairs of clothes, some toiletries. They weren't his.

He picked up a shirt, still folded, and examined it. His memories from his time transformed were a little fuzzy, but did he recall–

His door slid open and Kirk walked in.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know– did Bones seriously release you?" Kirk asked, clearly surprised to find Spock here. Spock said nothing. He couldn't. He was waiting to adjust to the sudden, bright, loud presence of Kirk. Nobody else affected him like this – the random crewmen in the halls broadcast loud and clear, for the most part, but this was something else entirely. Why did he pick up Kirk's emotions in high definition?

"Er," Kirk continued when Spock didn't answer. "Um, right, I came for that stuff," he said, reaching out for the shirt Spock was holding. "I forgot about it while you were– anyway, now that you're better, I figured you probably don't want me cluttering up your space!" he said with a laugh. He pulled the shirt from limp fingers and began gathering the things on the shelves. "Geez, it’s warm in here. I guess engineering put the temperature back where it belongs.” Kirk was aware that he was chattering, but he couldn’t help it. Spock was just _standing_ there, completely silent. “Look, seriously, how'd you get Bones to let you go? I could use a trick like that up my sleeve."

"He didn't," Spock said absently. He was getting a really confusing tangle thrown at him: regret, embarrassment, something that felt a little like fear, and any number of other things he just could not name.

"What? Spock, you can't just–"

"Captain," Spock interrupted. "I must warn you that you are at risk of having your privacy invaded here."

That stopped him. "What do you mean?"

"I am not currently in possession of all of my mental faculties. I cannot prevent myself from feeling your emotions." It was a little easier to say this time. But not much.

"You're _what?_ "

Was that... guilt? Guilt about what?

"Vulcans are natural telepaths. For the most part, that means touch telepathy - you are familiar with the mind meld.” He took refuge in explaining, defining.

"Yeah, I've seen you do it a few times - once through a wall. What does that have to do with this?" Kirk asked.

“The range is limited. But this ability is one reason the teachings of Surak, cthia, and the Kolinahr are so important: they help us control our susceptibility to emotion. They make us less vulnerable to anything we might encounter within - or without." He would never have phrased it thus, before. Before, he would have said that these teachings, this way of life, was important for the pursuit of logic itself. But right now, at this moment, he felt – yes, _felt_ – that this other aspect of Surak's teachings was precisely as important.

"Oh, God." Understanding lit in Kirk's eyes. "The brain scans. I should have known. Spock, I'm so sorry. I'll go." And he did. Before Spock could say anything else, Kirk was just _gone_ , clearly uncomfortable in his presence any longer. Spock was confused. He felt... gratitude that he was alone now. Relief. But then also sadness that he had chased away Kirk. Was that loneliness? He was too exhausted to figure it out now.

As Spock settled himself to meditate, however, he realized what other scent it was that was mixed with his own and that of the cleaning agents. It came back to him in a rush: Kirk returning here for meals, after his shifts, sleeping here, doing everything he could just by being present. Spock remembered the comfort that had brought; he had been so terrified, his emotions at the whim of the sea of feeling that was the _Enterprise_ and he unable to understand, unable even to _think_ –

Spock wrenched his brain away from recollecting. He was not ready. But he would keep the memory of comfort as a guard against whatever else his mind might fling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So rude, McCoy. Geez.
> 
> Ok, my ducks, I am going to be traveling this weekend to locales with Internet connection unknown. Soooo expect the next chapter Sunday instead of Saturday. I am confident the world will spin on.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 16: In Which Kirk and Spock Attempt to Determine Where Spock's Clothes Went


	16. In Which Kirk and Spock Attempt to Determine Where Spock's Clothes Went

One benefit of Spock’s misadventure was that, physically, he was remarkably well rested. He required no more than the usual amount of meditative rest to feel refreshed; the drawback was that, because his mental well-being had suffered considerably, he was essentially trapped in his quarters with all of his physical energy. But dealing with that was merely the first step on the path to recovery.

Spock knelt before the symbols of logic in the proscribed posture and began his formal pursuit of balance. Having trod this path once before and having achieved its destination, he expected to find the going easier this time. In this he was not disappointed. The mental habits formed over years of training and the daily discipline he had exercised were fairly easy to fall back into once he quieted himself away from the chaos of the ship.

He meditated for hours, to all appearances completely inert, though his mind was active. Every time a whisper of doubt fogged the corridors of his thoughts he would usher it quietly away. Worries about whether he would be able to maintain this peace and the organization of his thoughts among other people were hardly productive, and he knew he was not yet ready to face anyone else, so why concern himself? No, the first step was to re-center himself, organize his mind, and then construct his defenses. And if he felt himself ready he knew he could test himself with Kirk: not only would he provide the most stringent test of Spock’s recovery, but Spock knew he would not need to worry about losing face should he fail in Kirk’s presence. Once one has taken care of a friend who has been turned into a rabbit, there is very little left that might embarrass or surprise one…

Spock realized his mind was wandering and forced his thoughts back into the correct pattern, the well-traversed hallways of his training. He needed to parse everything he had felt over the past several days, acknowledge it, understand the reason for it, and set it aside. With this clutter properly addressed, he would be able to more easily do the same for any new emotions that assaulted him during his recovery.

At first, it was easy. There were some emotions that even he knew how to deal with instinctively. Confusion when he had first found himself completely changed? Logical. The initial fear he had experienced just after his transformation? This could be explained. But the growing anxiety he had developed, the unreasoning paranoia and blind panic that grew so strong it had affected him physically as well, these were more complicated. They had seemed to stem from the presence of many people, yet had been quelled by the close presence of one person, and that made no sense. When alone, he should have been at his calmest, but instead that was when he had been the most frightened.

Spock turned this around in his mind for a long time before deciding he simply was not going to arrive at the answer all at once. He had done enough thinking and now must allow his brain to relax and perform its automatic work. He could approach the problem again in several hours.

Spock stood, bringing himself fully out of his meditative state and wandered across the room, fingers trailing idly over his lute before he decided to do some reading instead.

Sitting down at his desk, he found several messages hovering in the holographic interface. He opened the one from Dr. McCoy first, remembering with discomfort the way he had lost his temper with him (what would have been yesterday, for the doctor). This message was the standard doctor’s notice that Spock was to be considered on sick leave until he was once more operating at full capacity, but with a personal addendum from McCoy attached:

_Make sure you actually rest, you stubborn Vulcan. We don’t want you back unless you’re back just the way you were. --McCoy_

Spock raised an eyebrow. It was as close to an apology as he would get from the good doctor and it was more than he had been expecting. He sent back a terse ‘Acknowledged.’ that he knew McCoy would roll his eyes at and take as evidence that Spock was on the mend.

The rest of the messages were from Kirk, which was odd. Usually if the captain wanted something he just turned up at Spock’s door – but, of course he would be keeping his distance now. Spock scanned the messages and was pleased to find that they were all reports from the science teams who had been studying his problem. Kirk had included everything from the anthropologists’ hypotheses to the applied science team’s experimental results to Scotty’s technical findings to Uhura’s fledgling dictionary of the language.

It was exactly what he needed: if he could understand what had actually happened to him, and why, perhaps he would be able to better sort himself out mentally. He began reading.

*

It was well into the night cycle when Spock came to the end of the reports that Kirk had forwarded. There was one last message from Kirk on his desk, though:

_Sent along all of our findings on your rabbit adventure. This isn’t a hint that I want you working on this, just thought you might like to know what’s going on. But if it’s distracting you let me know, and I won’t send any further reports – whatever will get_ Enterprise _’s first officer back quickest._

Spock immediately sent a missive back stating that he definitely wanted the latest reports and discoveries, and thanked Kirk for thinking of it.

He was startled to see that Kirk sent a response almost immediately afterward.

**_Sure, but don’t overdo it – I was serious about getting you back on the bridge quick._ **

What was he doing awake and at his desk at this hour?

**_On the contrary, Captain, having these reports in my possession will likely speed my recovery._ **

**_Glad to hear it. Talking like this isn’t distracting you is it? Or – you can’t ‘feel’ my emotions?_ **

**_No. Physical proximity is necessary for that._ **

But Spock would not be initiating a video chat. They could continue to converse in text. He could handle that. It would be easier to conceal any moments of weakness.

**_Then do you mind if I ask you how much you remember from this whole thing?_ **

**_Captain, that question is illogical. If I tell you I remember ‘everything’ or ‘almost everything,’ how can you be sure I really know? If I have forgotten incidents or sections of time, I would not know it, and may only_ think _I remember all._**

There was a longer pause this time. Then:

**_I’m so glad you’re feeling better._ **

**_Thank you, Captain, but I still fail to see the purpose of your question. What information were you hoping to acquire?_ **

**_Never mind. I should be sleeping._ **

**_Indeed, I confess myself curious as to why you were not. I apologize if concerning yourself with my condition had caused you to fall behind to the extent that you must spend your evenings ‘catching up.’_ **

Another pause. Spock could not know this, but at this point Kirk was staring at his message in disbelief and beginning to compose and then deleting several messages before settling on:

**_Don’t be ridiculous, Spock. Your ‘condition,’ as you call it, was really part of our original mission. We were here to learn more about the people of this planet and I think figuring out why they might want to occasionally turn into rabbits falls under that description. Anyway, I just can’t sleep for some reason._ **

**_I see. Captain, if you are awake and working, then, may I inquire after a missing piece of information from these reports?_ **

**_Of course, Spock. What is it?_ **

**_The matter of my return to myself. Nowhere is it mentioned what triggered it. How was my transformation reversed? Dr. McCoy was alarmingly brief on the topic_ **

**_That’s because we don’t actually_ know _. Right before you changed, Scotty and Bones were working on a theory that it might be automatically triggered when sensors in the technology determined that some specific condition had been met. Some of the scientists think it’s a set number of days, but the anthropologists don’t like that one because our day cycles don’t correspond to what Lepus IV’s would have been when people lived there. The amount of time you spent transformed translates to something like 5.3 days for them. Actually, I know they were hoping to ask you if it was something you had done – some mental trigger or something that you found to end it?_**

**_Not that I am aware of. However, if I recall any such thing, I will be certain to inform you. It would help to know specifically the circumstances surrounding my return to my normal physical state._ **

**_Well, it was the middle of the night cycle. You were out cold – sleeping, I mean, not unconscious. Just sleeping like usual. Then in the middle of the night you were suddenly just you again, but still with exactly the same injuries we found you with originally._ **

**_Then it may have been an unconscious trigger. You say that I was actually sleeping, and not in a meditative state?_ **

**_You were sleeping. Just like any rabbit._ **

**_Then perhaps I was also dreaming. The mind is active in sleep, so it might be anything. I regret that I have no working hypothesis to submit to the researchers at this time. However, there is something that might be of help to Commander Scott. You were with me at the time I changed back, correct?_ **

From the length of the pause, Spock was expecting a longer response. However, all that came through was:

**_Yes._ **

**_According to the data Mr. Scott has sent along, the technology in the robes operates on similar principles to our transporters. It is possible that my injuries were recreated because the technology of the robe was unfamiliar with the appropriate make-up of a Vulcan and therefore only had myself in an injured state for reference. It mapped my injuries as a normal part of my anatomy and recreated them._ **

**_Interesting… but, Spock, that wouldn’t explain_ **

The message truncated.

**_Would not explain what, Captain?_ **

**_Sorry, accidentally sent that before I was ready. It wouldn’t explain why it didn’t recreate your_ clothes, _Spock. You came back not wearing anything but your blood._**

**_Fascinating. That should be included in the report. It requires further study, but at the moment I would hypothesize that the clothing I was wearing at the time of my initial transformation was made entirely of synthetic material, and that the technology only recreates organic material identified as component of a living being._ **

**_Then where did they go? You can’t just destroy matter, Spock._ **

**_I am aware, Captain. As I said, the matter requires further study._ **

They continued for some time. Kirk privately promised himself that the details of Spock waking up naked in his arms would be buried in the deepest, darkest appendix of the most boring report he could find when it was time to ship all of this back to Starfleet – that’s if that detail didn’t _accidentally_ get left out entirely.

Finally, Kirk signed off and went to catch at least a few hours of sleep before his next shift, and Spock picked up his lute and let his mind rest while his hands worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? The MATTER requires further study? Because of the law of conservation of - oh never mind. Nobody appreciates Spock's jokes. Leastwise Kirk.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 17: In Which McCoy Deliberately Attempts to Annoy Spock (or: Back to Business as Usual on the Enterprise)


	17. In Which McCoy Deliberately Attempts to Annoy Spock  (or: Back to Business as Usual on the Enterprise)

Spock spent the following day meditating and cultivating his self-control, re-affirming his boundaries. He had paid particular attention to the brain scans included in the reports, noting the slow but progressive decay of his higher thought patterns as the rabbit "hardware" (as one report from McCoy phrased it) took over. There was some comfort in the thought that what he was experiencing now was simply holdover - that his own hardware would overcome this lingering rabbit quality of sensitivity - but that did not mean he would cease actively hedging it. Some small, shadowed part of him sensed that it could so easily become habit to read others and to rely on it, to cultivate the ability rather than smother it, to think of it as simply a long-range mind meld, and hadn't that ability come in handy on more than one occasion?

The fact that he had had that thought at all disturbed him greatly. The sooner he was back to normal, the better. For everyone. And so he meditated.

In the evening, he found the latest reports from the researchers (though they were mainly just quick updates now that he was current). He read them, then found a message waiting for him from Kirk, which he responded to, and which found Kirk once more awake and seemingly eager to ‘talk.’ Though neither had planned it, they spent this evening as they had the previous: chatting and puzzling over the myriad unsolved aspects of this adventure.

In a way, this helped as much as the meditation and the research reports. In expressing his thoughts through text, Spock was taking the time to craft and construct them in a way that had once been second nature to him. It carried over into his thought patterns and by the fourth night of this, he was able to look at past transcripts of his conversations with Kirk and see a marked improvement, a gradual return to his own voice in the text.

Finally, on the sixth night, he thought he was ready to attempt to face people again, and said as much to Kirk. Kirk, of course, volunteered to be a test subject for Spock, to which Spock readily agreed. If he could maintain his composure and remain himself in the presence of the ultra-emotive Kirk, he would know he was ready to return to his duties.

Kirk arrived at his door minutes after Spock asked if it would be acceptable to conduct the test in his private quarters. Spock was not aware of his presence until Kirk pressed the door chime, and that was an excellent beginning.

“So what should I do?” Kirk asked, standing in the middle of the room.

“Your normal behavior should be sufficient.” So far, so good. He was _aware_ of Kirk in a way that seemed somewhat different than he remembered, but that was likely just because he was paying unusually close attention to his interaction with him. “I am not reading any ambient emotion from you, and as you are one of the most expressive individuals I am likely to encounter, I would call this a promising start.”

“Right. Oh, before I forget,” Kirk handed over a data slide. “Uhura’s latest translations and an updated dictionary. She said she had the dative and accusative backward before, whatever that means.”

“Thank you, Captain. Lieutenant Uhura’s work has been most enlightening. I would not be surprised if she were the one to provide us with the answers we are still missing.” Spock inserted the data slide and skimmed its contents, his eye pausing on a memo Uhura had included in her translation notes. “Jim…”

“What is it?” Kirk was at his side instantly, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing dire. I simply needed to test my endurance to your strongest emotions and in the past my use of your name has generally provoked these.”

“Spock,” Kirk said, stepping back and crossing his arms. His facial expression told Spock that he was displeased, but Spock was picking up nothing else – no stray emotions now or when he had used Kirk’s given name earlier. Good. “That’s pretty cold, even for you.”

“Ah. Captain, I apologize. The purpose of these tests is to seek out all potential weaknesses in my recovery. It is only logical to use every means at my disposal. But,” He looked consideringly at Kirk, mildly surprised himself at what he had to say next. “I do understand what it is to have an outside source foster an unwanted emotion in oneself. It won’t happen again.”

“Spock, that’s not – oh, forget it. So do you pass the test?”

“Yes. This is acceptable. The next test would be to add another individual – perhaps the doctor if he would oblige. He is the individual most likely to elicit an emotional response from me,” Spock suggested.

“Are you saying we should ask Bones to help because he annoys you?”

“If I were to experience annoyance, it would most likely be as a result of interaction with him, yes.”

Kirk grinned. “All right. Should we call him or try to find him in medbay?”

“I would not object to the opportunity to test my resistance to the background emoting of the general populace of the ship.”

“Medbay it is, then.”

*

“Well? Have I been sufficiently obnoxious yet?” McCoy asked about an hour later.

“I believe I have experienced sufficient exposure, if that is what you mean,” Spock said. He had been listening to McCoy’s general chatter as the doctor treated a few patients and as nurses and med ensigns came and went. No problems. McCoy sounded like he had been saving up his banter for when Spock returned and, when told that he was to be as annoying as possible, gleefully delivered several quips in top form, complimenting Spock on his return to glacial levels of cold-bloodedness and informing him that if he ever wished to get in touch with his human side again it was good to know that all it took was a magic robe and a trip through the transporter.

Kirk witnessed all of it with barely concealed mirth, but none of it bothered Spock in the least and McCoy gave him a clean bill of health and leave to return to duty, though he did it while muttering about never having had to consider repressing emotions a sign of good health before. 

“Well, Captain,” Spock said as they left medbay. “It would seem that the ship once more has a first officer.” 

“And about time, too. Report to the bridge tomorrow morning, usual schedule, and we’ll work out which of the Lepus projects you want in on.” 

“Thank you, Captain. Before I return to duty, I must requisition a replacement tricorder – unless you might know what became of the one I carried to the planet’s surface?” Spock asked with a sidelong glance at Kirk as they walked. 

“Uh… oh, I think it ended up in quarantine with anything else that was exposed on Lepus. Huh, I guess we can probably un-quarantine that stuff since we know the whole rabbit thing isn’t something contagious. I didn’t think of it with everything that’s been happening.” 

“Indeed. I surmise, therefore, that it did not occur to you or Dr. McCoy to check the data I had gathered on it during my misadventure on Lepus IV?”

“Check the–” And then it came back to him: Spock, freezing and wounded on the floor of that damnable storeroom, had handed him the tricorder. _Fascinating data,_ he had said. Kirk had ignored it in the mad rush to get Spock to safety. They might have been Spock’s dying words and he had _forgotten about them._ “Uh– well– ”

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“Spock, you were a _rabbit,_ things were a little crazy – yes, ok, I forgot about the tricorder. I’m sorry.” 

“Captain, you do not need to defend yourself to me. I had concluded from reading Mr. Scott’s reports that no one was aware of the data I had gathered. At any rate, the data would only have directed you to investigate the robes at a slightly more accelerated rate, as the tricorder had assessed them as technology and not organic matter.” 

“So we could have figured this out faster? Damn it, Spock, I’m–” 

Spock interrupted before Kirk could apologize again. “It makes no matter, Captain. You and the research teams did an admirable job analyzing the situation and drawing the appropriate conclusions regardless. And as we still do not know what prompted my return, there is no saying that having the data sooner would have made any difference.” 

“So – wait. You’re just telling me this to rub it in or something?” Kirk asked incredulously. 

“Does that sound like the sort of thing I would do, Captain?” Spock asked, the picture of Vulcan unflappability. 

Kirk barked out a startled laugh as they arrived at Spock’s quarters. He paused in front of the door and turned to Spock. 

“Look, I’m – well I guess maybe it goes without saying, but I’m really glad you’re back, Spock.” 

“Technically I was always physically present,” Spock pointed out, and Kirk grinned. 

“Of course. Well, back to the grind tomorrow, so get some rest.” Kirk turned to leave and Spock opened his door, but hesitated in the doorway. 

“Captain,” he said, before he could think about it. Kirk turned. “I am… glad. To be back.”

Spock couldn’t tell if the sudden warmth he felt originated from within himself at the brilliant smile that lit across Kirk’s face at his words, or if he was picking up what Kirk himself was feeling. He turned and entered his room quickly, the door sliding shut behind him. Fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, it's definitely that easy to get over a traumatic experience that completely rewrites everything you thought you were. Especially if that experience is resolved in such a way as to leave you no closure at all. Yep. Smooth sailing from here on out.
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Eighteen: In Which Many Things are Explained, and Many Are Not


	18. In Which Many Things Are Explained, and Many Are Not

As for the great mystery of Lepus IV’s transformative technology, it was solved to Starfleet’s satisfaction. Uhura learned the language well enough to read just about any document the anthropologists uncovered and so discovered that the robes had, indeed, been gifts from “far-off travelers of the stars” – but it certainly wasn’t Starfleet. The descriptions of the visitors varied, but none of them matched a species recorded in Starfleet’s databanks. And whatever starfaring civilization had gifted the robes to Lepus IV, it predated Starfleet’s journeys into this quadrant by at least a century.

This was big news at headquarters. That information, as well as all of Scotty’s findings on how the technology itself worked, was instantly classified and vanished into some deep dark department. Kirk was told not to pursue it any further and to keep his focus instead on the original mission: the culture and reason for the extinction of the native population of the planet. Naturally, the mission and the now-classified subject matter did overlap at least a little, but as the _Enterprise_ was in possession of all the original notes as well as the only person who could read the dead language, being prohibited from Starfleet’s files on the matter was hardly an obstacle.

Starfleet didn’t need to know how much Kirk did or did not find out about the unknown benefactors in the course of his crew’s study of the planet. Not that he was deliberately disobeying orders, but if Uhura and Scotty picked up a tidbit here and there relevant to the persisting mystery of Spock’s recovery and shared it with him, how could he help that? 

They discovered, for example, the reason for the tiny size of the population: The geologists had found evidence of a huge climate shift just before it was estimated the unknown party had arrived with the gift of the robes. The planet had begun entering an ice age, and it wasn’t related to the moon’s fall from the heavens as the researchers had originally surmised. The people of Lepus IV would surely have died off far more quickly if not for the fortuitous (or was it planned?) arrival of interstellar travelers bearing gifts. 

The population became dependent on the robes to survive the increasingly brutal winters of Lepus IV. Transformed by the peculiar radiation reflected by the moon, gathered by the light-collecting panels, and released to activate the robes when winter arrived, they would wait out the cold as small rabbits (or, as the biologists were quick to point out, rabbit-like creatures that were technically still an alien species), conserving energy and staying warm.

A newborn was not counted among the population on family records until it had survived its first winter. Tradition stated that anyone over a certain age would bequeath their robe to a baby that had been born that year and ‘go into the cold’ that winter, and thus the population was maintained. Whoever had given them the garments had only provided two hundred. 

There was the answer to why they had died out, as well: inbreeding. The population was too small to sustain itself and more and more people turned out sterile. The people simply wasted away.

A popular theory posited that the people of Lepus IV had originally been colonists to the planet, which could help explain why they were the only species that had left evidence of itself on that planet, and that no others naturally equipped to handle the cold had developed. There was no way to be certain though: there were no records on the planet that old, and tracking down the only other source of information would be a blatant show of disregard for Starfleet’s orders. 

When the _Enterprise_ finally left Lepus IV after gathering all possible data, there were still many questions: if the population were colonists, where had they come from originally? Why did whoever had brought the robes only bring two hundred? Where did they go after that, and why hadn’t Starfleet encountered them yet? And what, exactly, triggered the end to the transformation? 

Kirk tried not to let himself be too bothered by the lack of answers. There was now a dedicated science team working on the Lepus project with the samples and data they had collected before leaving, making sure they hadn’t missed anything. And anyway, he had Spock back, and everything had turned out right in the end, hadn’t it? They were well away from that planet. 

 

Of course, recovering from trauma is never that simple. Spock had moments. Kirk watched him have them, though he never knew what triggered them. It could be in the rec room, during a meal, on the bridge, and once, alarmingly, during an away mission. Spock would go still, his eyes would go a bit distant, and a small shiver would run the course of his body and then he’d be back. No one else noticed and Spock was his usual calm self, but he would excuse himself at the soonest feasible moment and retire to his quarters for as long as possible.

Kirk found himself outside Spock’s door more often than not when this happened. He wanted to help. He wanted to ask questions (What caused it this time? Is it something that can be avoided? Are you ok? What can I do?), but he didn’t want to disturb Spock and he was worried that his noticing would distress the Vulcan. He had no idea what to do and so he stood in front of the door and did nothing and wandered away before any crewman could walk down the hall and catch him staring at his first officer’s door like some moonstruck calf.

 

But one time, the door opened. 

Kirk stepped back, surprised and then acutely embarrassed. Spock’s room was dark behind him, with only a faint red glow coming from his altar and creating dramatic shadows over his form. McCoy would have made another “looks like Satan” crack, but Kirk was thinking something rather different. 

“I– I wasn’t–” Kirk stammered. 

“Are you here to counsel me, Captain? To perhaps hold my hand and inform me that everything is going to be ‘okay’ despite having no means to support such a statement?” 

“No,” Kirk said. He was taken aback by Spock’s tone. Often coldly logical, frequently literal, occasionally exasperated – Spock was many things but never… whatever this was. 

“Why, then?”

“Just – for anything. For whatever you need, even if it’s nothing at all. I’m here as your friend.” 

Spock was still and silent for so long Kirk began to question whether he’d actually said anything or had just thought it really loudly. When Spock spoke, it was quiet, and coming from the tall Vulcan, from the deep shadows and red highlights, it sounded just faintly lost. 

“I don’t…” Spock trailed off. 

“If you don’t need anything, that’s fine,” Kirk assured him. 

“No. I don’t… I don’t know what I need,” Spock said, and it cost him something to say it, Kirk could tell. 

“Do you want help figuring it out?” 

Spock met his eyes and Kirk wouldn’t have looked away for anything in the galaxy. You didn’t have to be an empath to read emotions through someone’s eyes and what he saw in Spock’s tore at him. 

“…yes,” Spock said. He stood aside to let Kirk in. 

And they figured it out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, 'figuring it out', is that what the kids are calling it these days wink wink nudge nudge
> 
> Just kidding guys. It would be pretty terrible of Kirk to take advantage of Spock in a distressed state. At this point, Spock would have to make the first move and even then he'd have to do a lot of fast talking to convince Kirk it was really ok, probably have to hold him down... and physically... show... hoo boy *fans self*
> 
> Ahem. My point is what happens behind that door is probably pretty innocent and likely DOES have rather a lot to do with helping Spock out mentally and emotionally. So try to control your imaginations, geez. This fic is only rated T!
> 
> Stay tuned for... the epilogue!


	19. In Which the Moral of the Story is That Having One English Major Aboard the Ship Would Have Solved This Whole Thing a Lot Faster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, since I know this fic is categorized in both the original universe and the alternate universe, that you can see chapter 1 for my explanation on what I decided to go with and why (tl;dr: this is the original universe cuz Vulcan, but I borrowed things that made sense (like technology and Chris Pine) from the alternate universe)

 

_"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then."_

– Lewis Carrol _, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_

 

 

Shore leave time was always exciting, especially when it was an approved shore leave for the entire crew (in shifts, of course – the ship would never be unattended). The whole ship began buzzing with plans and preparation and everyone was in a good mood in the days leading up to it. Their destination this time was an uninhabited tropical planet that had been visited by several other starships and was 100% guaranteed not to contain any hallucinations, exploding rocks, pagan gods, sentient technology, or other inconveniences likely to get in the way of a good time.

The planet in question also happened to take the _Enterprise_ right past the 40 Eridani system. Kirk was waiting for Spock to notice.

In fact, Spock had already noticed, he simply did not see the need to comment on this. Finally, Kirk couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, I know you’re not normally particularly interested in shore leave,” Kirk said casually as Spock maneuvered Kirk’s rook into a trap. “But it looks like we’ll be passing right by Vulcan. You know, if you wanted us to drop you off there or anything…”

“I am aware.”

Kirk let his rook fall into the trap and proceeded to set up his own elaborate scheme (which he would abandon half way through) to take Spock’s queen. “So, do you want to?”

“I have no need to visit my home planet.” Spock saw the beginnings of Kirk’s strategy and moved a bishop to defend against it. Kirk continued as if he didn’t know what Spock was doing.

“Spock, we talked about this–”

“Perhaps it has escaped your attention, Captain, but I am quite healthy and have been without incident for some time. We are forbidden from continuing research into the more salient points of the Lepus IV technology, and visiting Vulcan is practically an invitation to the Science Academy to question the causes behind my admittedly slightly changed demeanor, which any trained individual would assuredly notice. I do not think Starfleet would approve of my raising questions there at the moment.” Spock’s defense was shaping up perfectly and in a few moves Kirk’s trap would be useless.

“So you admit that you’re not completely recovered?”

“That was not the point of my statement, but… no. It may not be obvious to a human, but any Vulcan would be able to see that I’ve been through something, shall we say, transformative.” He arched an eyebrow at Kirk and Kirk laughed, pleased as always when Spock could joke about his experience.

Kirk made a completely random move with no plan for future moves. Spock could never tell when he had a strategy and when he was just messing with him. It served Kirk well.

“All right, all right. I’m not asking you to give away Federation secrets. But you know there are people on Vulcan who could help you. You may not have had an ‘incident’ lately,” Kirk made airquotes with two of Spock’s pawns he’d captured. “But don’t deny it’d be nice to be rid of the nightmares.”

Spock did not break eye contact with Kirk as he set his queen down decisively. “Check,” Spock said.

“If I let you win, will you go?”

“Excuse me?” Spock said. “Barring the fact that this game has no bearing on our discussion, and that bargaining the outcome of a simple game for important life activities is not only completely illogical but foolish, you are not _letting_ me do anything.”

Kirk shrugged and made his move. “It was worth a shot. Also, checkmate.”

Spock stared at the board, then back at Kirk. “As poetic as that was, it does not mean I will be visiting Vulcan.”

*

Spock ended up visiting Vulcan. Kirk offered to go with him, but Spock gave him a mildly alarmed look which for him meant true horror, so Kirk saw him off and then went with the rest of the crew for their regularly scheduled shore leave. Starfleet couldn’t afford to have an entire starship out of commission for long, though, so he told Spock that they would be back for him in about a week ( _Enterprise_ time).

Kirk expected the time to drag, but there was plenty to do, and not having any threats to his crew’s safety was something of a novel experience. Kirk enjoyed himself, though he kept an eye on his communicator just in case. McCoy called him a mother hen and asked with a knowing look why Kirk didn’t come around to talk about ‘things’ over brandy anymore and Kirk punched him on the arm and went looking for a cliff to climb.

The leave was relaxing, but Kirk didn’t mind getting back to the ship. It was where he belonged, and anyway he was dying to see how Spock’s trip had gone. They made the short jump back to Vulcan and Spock beamed aboard without incident. If asked, Kirk would deny holding his breath until he got the word that the first officer was back on board and not in any way a bunny.

And now, time dragged. Spock was completely unreadable, as he usually was, so Kirk had no idea how his trip had gone or whether it had helped him. He would have to wait until the end of the day to ask him privately, but half-way through the cycle Spock left to consult with the Lepus project about something and Kirk about tore his hair out. Spock had new information for the Lepus project? It was definitely not fair that the scientists got to find out before he did – completely logical and responsible, yes. Fair? No.

As soon as he had a chance, Kirk headed for the labs in search of Spock. He got sidetracked by Mendes who yes, had seen Spock, but real quick, did Kirk want to see the completely amazing and utterly new grain they were able to raise from a scrap of a seed they’d found? Of course he did. And once he had seen that, he absolutely had to see what the anthropologists were building based on a description Uhura had translated – they weren’t sure if it was a musical instrument or a farming implement and Uhura was making them guess, but whatever it was it was almost done. Oh, and then…

In the end, Spock came and found him. “Captain,” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter in the lab. “Doctor McCoy has asked me to inform you that if you start skipping sleep this soon after getting back to a normal schedule he is going to ‘take steps.’”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“His exact words were that he would sneak up behind you with a hypospray, dose you with a depressant, and let you sleep where you fall,” Spock stated with aplomb.

“Hm, could be worse. Still – good work everyone. Keep me posted on the… er… that.” He gestured vaguely at the whatever-it-was they were building and left with Spock.

“Thanks for the save,” he said when they were alone in the hallway.

“The doctor’s idea,” Spock said.

“Of course. How did Vulcan go?”

Spock frowned and stepped into a convenient meeting room. Kirk followed him. It was the standard space for groups to meet informally for planning sessions and projects that didn’t require lab equipment: a large table with several chairs around it, and of course a computer interface.

“Spock?”

“It was… helpful,” Spock said. Kirk waited, but he didn’t continue. He seemed to be lost in thought.

“What did you have to tell the science teams?” Kirk prompted.

“I believe I have arrived at a viable working theory for ending the transformation cycle induced by the robes. I informed the science team so that they could complete their notes: however, Starfleet’s prohibition on further research will prevent us from testing the conclusion.”

“And? What _is_ the conclusion?” Kirk asked.

“The technology of the garments was not solely transformative. It was also _monitoring._ We know this because it had within its circuits the capability to save an organic pattern so that it could return the wearer to his original state. Commander Scott logically deduced the existence of a switch that needed to be flipped, but did not know what might trigger it. But all of the information was there.”

Kirk fidgeted, gripping the back of one of the chairs to keep from expressing his impatience. “What did we miss?”

“Do you remember the literature Lieutenant Uhura translated?” Spock asked.

“Vaguely. A lot of poems about winter, one longer story that read more or less like a romance novel, and of course the stories about our visitors from the stars,” Kirk said.

“It is, in fact, the romance I am addressing, specifically the trope of rabbits turning back into people in pairs. Uhura noticed this theme, but in her formal report pointed out that it didn’t provide a sturdy hypothesis because in children’s stories and other tales where romance was not a feature, family groups simply transformed together. And in tales of adolescent adventure, it would be groups of friends. But there is a common thread at each point in the stories where the transformation occurs. My sojourn on Vulcan helped me to still my mind and see it with clarity.”

“I don’t remember a common theme. I read all of those stories and couldn’t figure out how any of them could help you,” Kirk said.

“The key, Captain, was safety. Contentment. Happiness. When the technology scanned the brain of the host and saw discomfort, hunger, or panic, it did nothing, the rationale being that the rabbit form would consume fewer resources while possessing greater agility and ability to withstand harsh conditions. When the mind was calm, it determined that the period of danger, which in most cases was simply winter, was over for the host and released the transformation.”

Kirk processed this. “That’s what Uhura was missing. Why turning back together would make a couple a good match, but why nobody could predict when it would happen. Because they were happy and felt safe when they were with each other, so they turned back.” He looked up at Spock. “So you…”

“Indeed. The key to reversing my condition was in my own mind all along. And, as it turns out… it was you.”

“Oh, I don’t–” Kirk began a denial but was silenced as Spock placed his hand gently on the side of Kirk’s face and closed the distance between them with a kiss.

As Kirk’s hand came up to cover his own where it rested on his cheek, human fingers hesitantly stroking Vulcan ones, for once Spock did not close his mind off from the effusion of emotion that was Kirk.

And what he felt could have transformed a dozen rabbits.

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. How sweet. I do believe I have given myself a cavity.
> 
> I don't mind telling you guys I agonized over that stupid kiss and rewrote it like, five times. It seemed so out of character a thing for Spock to do (for any Vulcan to do) but I didn't want to leave Q with exactly zero physical contact between our favorite couple here. So I reasoned that Spock might use a kiss as a way to make his feelings perfectly clear to a human, in a human way. Likewise, Kirk's gesture toward Spock's hand demonstrates his own knowledge of common physical contact between Vulcans (he has given this some thought, don't try to tell me he hasn't) and that he's willing to do what makes Spock most comfortable. 
> 
> Yeah. Too much thought. 
> 
> So that's it! I know there's a few questions still unanswered, like who the people who left the robes behind in the first place are and other things. If you have any burning questions that are really bothering you, feel free to ask in the comments (or you can find me on tumblr if you want). I'd be lying if I said I hadn't given any thought to a sequel, so I have a lot of answers that I didn't get to in this fic (that being said, don't expect one any time soon. I barely have a plot and I have exactly no time to write fanfiction. possibly it could be a nanowrimo project but... well we'll see)
> 
> Ok, that's it, that's all I've got for you. Thanks for reading this bit of ridiculousness!


End file.
